- Aria
The first thing I did that morning was stare at the ceiling and count how many cracks I hadn’t noticed before.
All were thin and branching out from one ugly spot near the corner, like something had tried to break through and failed.
I lay there longer than necessary, listening to the house breathe—pipes humming, floorboards settling, distant footsteps.
I’d moved into the guest room last night.
I told myself it was temporary, just for clarity. I told myself a lot of things that sounded very reasonable if you didn’t poke them too hard.
The crib camera on my phone blinked softly on the nightstand.
I turned my head and watched the twins sleeping.
Adrian had one fist curled, the other flung dramatically above a tiny head, like he was already protesting the world
