Violet
Eight months old.
My little Thane was eight months old, and somehow already wearing clothes meant for a much older baby.
I wasn't kidding when I said my boy was taking after Doom.
Big hands. Big feet. Solid little body.
And apparently determined to grow faster than I could keep clothes on him.
He was crawling across the living room carpet, making happy little noises while I folded laundry on the couch.
Doom was at the clubhouse.
The Steel Hammers problem hadn't gone away.
If anything, it had gotten worse.
Doom still wouldn't give me details.
He told me enough to understand why there was always a full patched brother and a prospect at the house whenever he wasn't home.
Today, Rome was with us.
I was good with Rome.
I'd gotten to know him better over the last couple mon
