4:37 AM. Carol laid the twins in the middle of her bed, surrounding her three-month-old daughters with pillows. Then she turned her back on them. She sat on the edge of her bed, her knees curled up to her chest, her face buried into her knees. Crocodile tears slid silently down her porcelain cheeks to soak her flannel pajamas. Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes. One year to the day that Doug had said, “I love you,” and walked out of her life. And now here she was. Alone. Raising his daughters without any help.
And the only place she wanted to be at that moment was in Seattle. Doug could make things better. He always did.