“He is fine, Shannon, you just overthink every little sound,” he said, setting the glass in the sink, right in the middle of my clean rinse water. “You are going to wear yourself out before they even turn one.”
I looked down at his glass, which was slowly filling with gray dishwater and floating soap bubbles.
“I am already worn out,” I said, keeping my voice quiet and deliberate.
“We both are,” he said with a quick, defensive chuckle. “But we have to keep moving. I have that budget meeting at eight.”
He walked out of the kitchen, his bare feet sliding against the hardwood hallway, leaving me with the remaining four bottles to scrub.
Beside the pantry, the pink diaper bag sat stuffed with extra onesies and formula cans, ready for any sudden trip to the clinic. I picked up the silver wedding band from the table and slipped it back onto my finger, but the metal felt unusually cold against my skin.
By three o’clock, the monitor hummed with a different pitch, a low, wet whimper that meant Luna was awake.
I lifted her from her crib, her tiny five-pound body smelling of warm milk and damp flannel, and carried her down to the living room. Her forehead felt cool against my neck, but her small chest heaved with a shallow, irregular rhythm.
The streetlamps on Oak Lane threw long, pale rectangles across the carpet as I rocked her back and forth near the front window.
“We are okay,” I whispered to her, though my own shoulders were so tight they ached with every breath.
Outside, the first heavy drops of rain began to hit the glass, blurring the dark shapes of the maple trees in the yard.
Luna sighed, her small fist relaxing against my collarbone as her breathing slowed into a steady rhythm. The rain turned into a steady downpour, drumming against the aluminum gutters with a heavy, relentless sound.
