[Sera]
I don't sleep.
Not really. I do that thing where you lie in the dark with your eyes closed, pretending so hard your body almost buys it, but your brain's running laps around a track made of worst-case scenarios. Every time I start to drift, the bell above the door chimes in my head. Pine. Fresh snow. Gray eyes landing on my daughter like a scanner reading a barcode.
Lulu's out cold beside me in the crib, one fist curled near her mouth, breathing in that slow, boneless way only babies and people with zero existential dread can manage. I envy her. Deeply.
Around 2 a.m., I give up the charade and sit up. The room's dark except for the pale wash of streetlight through the curtain.
Then I suddenly notice something on the pillow that wasn't there before.
A black envelope. No stamp.
