Franz guided her to the couch before she could protest.
"Sit," he said. "Rest. I'll handle the sorting."
Arianne opened her mouth to argue, then closed it. The tears had left her drained, her body heavy with an exhaustion that had nothing to do with the pregnancy. She lowered herself onto the small couch, her hand finding its familiar place on her belly, and held herself motionless. The baby moved, a small flutter like a fish turning in deep water, and she focused on that sensation instead of the photographs scattered across the shelf.
Franz rolled up his sleeves and got to work.
