Mom, can I have the iPad now? Jack has had it since he woke up. He’s been up forever, and I haven’t had a turn yet.” I slowly opened an eye, startled when I realized I was nose to nose with my daughter, Emily. I blinked a couple of times, my eyelashes crusty from the mascara that I had been too tired to remove before I fell asleep.

My head pounding, I hoisted myself up and brushed my hair out of my face. Every part of my body was sore, and I winced in pain as I reached for my glasses. The bracelet from Liz was still on my wrist, and I painstakingly slipped it off.

“You look weird,” Emily said as she scrunched up her face.

“Tell your brother five more minutes, and then you can have a turn.” My voice was hoarse and brittle, and I reached over and took a long gulp of water from the glass on my nightstand as Emily scampered out of the room, screaming that it was her turn.

Jack screeched downstairs, and I assumed that Emily had wrenched the iPad out of his hands. We had debated whether we should get two—one for each kid—but I’d waved off the notion like a rookie, assuming they could share. And besides, they weren’t supposed to be on tablets all day anyway and wouldn’t need to have their own. Like I said, rookie mistake.

Mark walked into the bedroom as I swung my legs over the side of the bed, cursing Liz’s boxed wine. Anxiety began to fill my bones as I thought of the long day ahead with the kids. I knew I should have come home sooner, had water instead of wine.

“What time did you get in last night, Amy? You look . . . tired.” He strode over to me, dressed for work. He worked downtown in technology sales for Genitech, a media conglomerate. Unfortunately, Genitech also owned a major cell phone provider, and thus any time a family member or friend had poor service, they had to let him know, as though he personally oversaw the maintenance of the cell towers.

“After midnight. And thanks, I feel . . . tired.” I stood up and took in a long, deep breath.

Mark leaned forward and gave me a kiss on the cheek. “I put two ibuprofen next to you, and made a pot of coffee.”

“My kingdom for coffee,” I said as I turned and downed the painkillers. I was filled with gratitude for his small, nonjudgmental gesture. I doubted Liz was getting the same treatment from Tim. “Thanks. I need all the help I can get.”

“Rosé?” he said with a laugh, his blue eyes crinkling at the corners. He leaned forward and studied my face.