A 4 A.M. knock on the bakery’s back door jolts me into dropping the whisk I am washing into the bleach tub, nearly causing the chemical-laced water to splash onto my face. My sleepy body drags itself to open the door and reveal an overly caffeinated Christopher. “Hello, luv!” he exclaims, bursting his arms out to greet me. Bags support his bloodshot, baby blues, yet his grin is infectious. Behind him our children yawn while clutching pillows and sleeping bags. The display removes every trace of my early-morning crankiness.

“Are you crazy? You have to be at your own job in a few hours.”