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The first time I understood why my eight-year-old son had been sleeping on the floor beneath his baby sister’s crib, it was 2:13 in the morning. I heard his voice through the monitor and found him gripping the crib rail in the dark, whispering, “I’m awake, Lucy. She can’t do it if I’m awake.” When I asked who he meant, Noah began to cry. Then he looked toward the guest room where my mother-in-law was sleeping and said, “Grandma made me promise I wouldn’t tell you.”
Part 1 For several seconds, I couldn’t move. The nursery was lit only by the little amber night-light beside the changing table. Lucy was...
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