Franz had been awake since five, working through the ankle stretches his physical therapist had assigned him before Arianne could catch him at it, and by the time she came downstairs he'd already decided the day's real assignment was hers, not his. Her feet had started swelling by mid-morning most days now, and getting to them before she noticed had turned into its own small contest against the clock. Two weeks home had taught him that seven months pregnant made shoes optional most days, and made his own one-armed sock removal look like a physical therapy exercise, which it mostly was.
"You don't have to do this every morning," she said, not stopping him.
"I want to." He worked the sock off with his good hand, his weaker arm braced flat against her ankle for balance more than pressure, and pressed his thumb along the arch the way the pamphlet on the counter had shown him. "It's the one item on today's list I can actually finish before lunch."
"Franz."
