It was five in the morning, the nursery clock was glowing blue, and Onica had finally settled down against my shoulder. I was rocking back and forth in the same worn armchair where I'd nursed Bradley three years earlier. My phone alarm was about to go off, signaling me to pump before I showered.
A small voice floated from the corridor.
"Mom? Is it morning-morning or morning-night?"
"It's morning—shh, my little one," I whispered back to him. "Go snuggle up to Daddy. I'll come get you later."
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