the baby's weight settled on his sternum, a small, hot anchor. each tiny breath was a pulse against his own ribs.

outside, the train horn blew, a long, mournful chord. they designed it to sound like a cry.

a single, high-pitched chirp came from the hallway. the smoke detector. a digital bird with a warning.

he glanced at the monitor. his wife's form was a still shape on the grayscale screen.

the train, the chirp, the static. everything was calling out at once. a language was being spoken all around him, and he was just beginning to learn the alphabet.