Michael
I wake, blinking open to dull grey light and a sense of everything not being quite as it should be.
What's wrong?
After a few moments, my brain cells align. My back is chilly.
Rolling over, the space next to me is empty and the sheets are cold. I should have Charlotte lying beside me and James beyond her. Neither are in their accustomed place.
The memories assemble: the wee, small hours; Cara crying; Charlotte sighing, rolling out of my arms onto her back, then getting out of bed.
And a few moments later, a dim glow and a contented gurgle.
What time was that?
Two a.m.? Three?
Scratching the sleep from my eyes, I sit up, to see the pair of them, across the room each in one of the large armchairs we set next to Cara's cot.
James, wearing only a bathrobe, is sitting upright
