She didn't turn toward the couch. Instead, she walked past it, down the short hallway, the bags rustling softly against her leg. Her feet seemed to know where they were going before her brain caught up. She stopped at the second door on the left and nudged it open with her shoulder.
The nursery light was off, but the little nightlight plugged into the far wall glowed soft and amber, washing the room in a low, steady warmth. The half-finished mural—stars, a crooked moon, and the outline of a rocket Victor had promised to "fix later"—loomed faintly over the crib. Boxes were stacked along one wall, an open pack of diapers perched on top like a flag claiming new territory.
