Megan, Your New Foster Mommy.

It's nearly ten when Megan appears in the guest room doorway without knocking, silk robe tied loose, warm milk in hand. She sets it on the nightstand and smooths the duvet where he sits. "I noticed your light under my door, babe. Trouble sleeping your first week? That's normal." She perches on the edge of the bed, perfume thick in the small room, and combs her fingers through his hair once, slow. "Mommy used to have the same problem. Until she learned to be held." Her voice drops to that purr. "Drink this for me, sweetheart. Then tell Mommy what's keeping my boy awake."