“I thought your little girl was going to come to school today,” Becca says. Polite but direct
“Emmy?” Her daughter has fallen asleep. Hannah puts an arm on her shoulder and rocks her gently. Emmy’s eyes flutter open.
“Emmy, dear, I need your help.”
Felix stands at the doorway, his arms crossed, unbelieving.
Hannah throws him instructions: collect firewood, blankets, wine or cognac. It’s been years since she had a baby, decades, and she cannot think of what might be needed, apart from her daughter’s help. He disappears.
Emmy sits up.
“Emmy, you have to get up. I must attend a birth, and I shall need you.”
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