My legs felt like water when he tried to stand me up.

The sharp pain from my delivery flared in my lower abdomen, hot and tearing.

I gasped, clutching Rowan tighter against my collarbone.

Arthur caught my weight before my knees could buckle onto the hardwood.

“I’ve got you,” he said. “Keep your arms tight around the boy.”

He slipped one strong arm under my knees and the other behind my back.

He lifted me off the floor, his boots creaking against the floorboards.

I pressed my face into the rough shoulder of his flannel shirt.

The front door clicked shut behind us, locking out the quiet house.

The humid Charlotte air hit my face like a wet towel, heavy and suffocating.

Arthur stepped carefully down the wooden porch stairs, his boots landing with heavy, rhythmic thuds.

I held Rowan tightly against my chest, feeling the terrifyingly rapid rise and fall of his tiny ribs.

“He is breathing too fast, Arthur,” I whispered, my voice trembling against his collarbone.

Arthur did not answer immediately, his focus entirely on navigating the concrete walkway.