The baby took the bottle, gurgling happily. In the darkened kitchen, she stared up at my face with that peculiar fixed stare that babies have. It was sort of soothing, watching her. After a while she closed her eyes, and then her mouth went slack. I put her on my shoulder and burped her as I carried her back into her bedroom. Most parents pat their babies too hard, trying to get a burp. It's better to just rub the flat of your hand up their back, and sometimes just along the spine with two fingers. She gave a soft belch, and relaxed.

I set her down in the crib, and I turned out the night-light. Now the only light in the room came from the aquarium, bubbling green-blue in the corner. A plastic diver trudged along the bottom, trailing bubbles.

As I turned to go, I saw Julia silhouetted in the doorway, dark hair backlit. She had been watching me. I couldn't read her expression. She stalked forward. I tensed. She put her arms around me and rested her head on my chest.

"Please forgive me," she said. "I'm a real jerk. You're doing a wonderful job. I'm just jealous, that's all." My shoulder was wet with her tears.

"I understand," I said, holding her. "It's okay."

I waited to see if my body relaxed, but it didn't. I was suspicious and alert. I had a bad feeling about her, and it wasn't going away.

She came out of the shower into the bedroom, toweling her short hair dry. I was sitting on the bed, trying to watch the rest of the game. It occurred to me that she never used to take showers at night. Julia always took a shower in the morning before work. Now, I realized, she often came home and went straight to the shower before coming out to say hello to the kids. My body was still tense. I flicked the TV off. I said, "How was the demo?"