Emma woke up at 3:03AM to the familiar ache in her chest, those two massive, veiny balloons that had never gone back to normal.
The milk had turned from thin and watery to thick, creamy, and scalding hot, like warm cream straight from the tap. It leaked in steady pulses whenever she moved, soaking through the thin tank top she’d slept in and pooling between her t**s. Six weeks postpartum and her body was still betraying her every night.
She didn’t bother with Mark. He was out cold after a double shift, the house quiet except for the soft creak of the baby’s crib down the hall. She slipped out of bed, robe already open, and waddled downstairs. The plugs had been in since she’d crawled back into bed last night; the wet, heavy feel between her thighs reminded her how full she still was.
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