On Saturdays, when Maxine stayed home with them, she fussed. She cried. She demanded attention in ways that were exhausting but familiar. By Sunday afternoon, she smiled again—hesitant at first, then wider.
By Monday evening, Maxine was quiet once more.Mike didn’t write it down. He just counted. Days with Eleanor. Days without. One afternoon, they stayed longer than usual at Eleanor’s house, lingering in the kitchen while Maxine played on the back patio. The late light slanted through the windows, warm and deceptive.