Chapter 24: 3:12

The monitor chirped on my nightstand at 3:12 in the morning.

I opened my eyes in the dark and lay still.

For a moment I was seven weeks out of surgery again, with my hand on my stitches and my heart pounding.

Then I felt the weight of an arm across my waist, and the bed beside me was empty.

I listened.

A man's voice came out of the speaker, low and slow.

"Your mother's asleep," he said. "So this stays between us."

Stella made a small, wet sound.

"I love you, kid," Emmett said. "Don't tell her I said so. She'll make me say it every morning."

I smiled into the pillow.

I got out of bed without using my elbow.

The scar did not pull, and my feet were warm on the boards.

It is nine steps from our bedroom to the nursery door.

I did not count them.

Emmett stood at the crib in his T-shirt, with Stella on his shoulder and the lamp turned down.

He saw me in the doorway and did not step away from the crib.

"You heard that," he said.

"The whole house heard that. You're on a monitor."

"I know. I forgot."

"No, you didn't."

"No." He grinned, crooked. "I didn't."

I crossed the room and put my forehead against his shoulder, next to our daughter's head.

"Say it to me," I said.

"I love you."

"Louder."

"Alexis."

"Say it again, so it's on the tape."