I glance at my phone. 8:00 a.m. Faint sounds of Hamilton and Liberty sail through the air from the kitchen. Groaning, I force myself to roll from my bed and pad down the hall.

“Good morning,” Hamilton smiles, teasing me about my hate for mornings without using any words.

I merely grunt as I fill my mug at the coffee pot and plop onto a stool near Liberty. She’s eating her Cheerios and fruit with her fingers. With each bite, her chin and fingertips stain red with ...