CATRIONA

I wiped the last bit of lotion into Abriel’s soft skin, then gently zipped up his pajamas — the navy blue ones with the little moons he always picked. His hair was still damp from his bath, curling just at the tips like his father's when it’s been freshly washed.

The clock on the wall read 21:26.

Jayden had texted earlier.

> On my way.

I reached for Abriel’s book basket by the bedside. “So, what are we reading tonight, baby? The Night Wolf? The Little Howler?”

He shook his head.

A small, firm no.

I blinked. “Oh? No bedtime story? You don’t want Mummy to read tonight?”

Again,...