I was babysitting for my sister. At 3 a.m., her baby monitor lit up.
The monitor crackled softly in the corner of the nursery. Micah was fast asleep, wrapped snugly in his sleep sack, his chest rising and falling with tiny, peaceful breaths. I was in the hallway, folding laundry, when I heard it. A whisper. “He’s not okay.” It wasn’t loud. In fact, it was so faint I…