BEFORE his girls were born Fitz never cried. He rarely even felt like crying. He could watch movies like The Champ and wonder why they were called tear-jerkers. He could endure crushing documentaries on starving Ethiopians or sunken-eyed Albanian orphans and not even get a tight throat. Hell, a girlfriend could leave without him so much as misting up. But from the moment his twins entered the world—causing him to geyser like a run-over fire hydrant—everything changed. Country songs. Life insurance commercials. His children breathing softly in the dark. Anything could bring him undone.