Evelyn’s POV

The day began softly, the way only early spring mornings in New York could, with bright sunlight breaking through the clouds. Evelyn stirred beneath the duvet, blinking at the slow rustling of the trees in the garden, her body moving with that careful heaviness that came with the last stretch of pregnancy.

Thirty-four weeks.

She whispered the number to herself sometimes, not out of fear but out of wonder. She had carried this tiny life for eight months; every kick, every ...