Three days.
That was how long it had taken for Erin's body to remember how to stand without trembling, for the dull, bone-deep ache of childbirth to soften into something she could carry. Three days of squeaking nurse's shoes in the hallway, of plastic cups of lukewarm water, of Jenna sneaking in contraband chocolate croissants from the bakery on the corner.
And now, finally, they were going home.
Erin sat in the front passenger seat of Jenna's old, slightly rattling sedan, her arms wrapped so tightly around the car seat in the back that her knuckles had gone white. Technically, the car seat was buckled in properly — Jenna had triple-checked, then made the discharge nurse check, then made a passing orderly check just for good measure. But Erin still couldn't stop twisting around every t
