*Isla*

Poppy flutters around the sunny sitting room, moving from light filled window to window as she spins in a soft circle. Isaac is in her arms, and seems unfazed by her attempts to get any type of reaction out of him.

So far, at only three days old, he is a quiet, amiable baby.

“He’s too young to really smile at you, Poppy,” I say from the floor where I’m sitting with my legs crossed. I look down at the paperwork littering the floor, my hand aching as I scribble my signature on something pertaining to a grocery order for the kitchen.

I hadn’t realized how much went into...