Chapter 33: What Night Was Hiding
Motherhood arrived like love had arrived with Anton. Violently. Not in a bad way. Not always. But certainly not gently, and never with enough warning. The first weeks after our son was born passed in a haze of milk, exhaustion, tenderness, and fear so raw it made everything else in my life feel secondary. Days blurred. Hours vanished. My body still didn’t feel fully mine. The house, which had once felt like a promise, became a rhythm of soft blankets, dim lights, bottles, laundry, hushed voices, and the tiny sounds one small human being could somehow use to command every adult in the room. Anton was there constantly during the day. That was the problem. If he had been absent altogether, I might have known how to name the hurt faster. But he wasn’t absent. Not really. He was almost of
- Writer
