Feeling somewhat fortified by the calls, Michael returned to the nursery. He pushed the door open quietly but assertively, his presence instantly filling the room. Gloria looked up, startled, her hand pausing mid-air with the spoon hovering near Emily’s mouth.

“Mr. Whitmore!” she stammered, clearly caught off guard. “I—I didn’t know you’d be back today.”

Michael fixed her with a steady gaze. “Gloria, I want to know what you’re feeding my daughter.” There was no anger in his voice, just the weight of a father’s concern.