Six weeks.
Six weeks since the hospital room, since the baby’s first cries, since Emma had stood in the doorway waving goodbye to the only man who thought he’d ever been a father. Six weeks of nothing but the guys, the house, and her body that had stopped pretending.
The belly was still there low, heavy, sagging like it had given up the fight. Skin still shiny with faint silver lines that hadn’t faded, still warm to the touch when she woke up leaking. Her t**s had ballooned into two massive, veiny balloons that now leaked steady, thick streams of warm milk twenty-four hours a day.
She could feel it every second, warm and heavy, soaking through every bra and shirt she owned like a second skin. The plugs were back in thick black silicone that never came out anymore, sitting deep and keep
