A heavy wave of drowsiness crashed over Raellyn as she slumped into the soft embrace of the sofa in their bedroom. Her face was drawn and weary, her hair in disarray, and her loose clothes hung off her as though they, too, had surrendered to exhaustion. She looked nothing like the elegant woman who once turned heads tonight, she was simply a mother battling the relentless rhythm of newborn life.
This wasn’t the aftermath of some tender, intimate night with Arnav; no, the true culprit behind her disheveled state was much smaller and far more demanding. Baby Arrael had developed a habit of crying deep into the night, his fragile lungs announcing his needs with unrelenting urgency. Every evening ended the same: Raellyn pacing, whispering, and rocking the tiny bundle until dawn kissed the edg
