“I’m worried,” he whispers into the crook of your neck. Your daughter is asleep in her crib in the other room, the two of you sitting on the couch together. It's a rare quiet moment.

Jason’s scared he’s too damaged to take care of someone else. Some days he can barely stand on his own two feet and you have to coax him out of bed. How could he possibly raise a child–a child he had with you? You, unbroken and perfect. Not like him.

“I’m not good at this. What if she doesn’t love me?”