Dominic
I was sitting in the nursery rocker at midnight, the baby finally settling against my chest after what felt like hours of crying. His little fists had been bunched up in my shirt, and his face was all red from the effort, but now his breathing was evening out, those tiny hiccups every few seconds as he drifted off. The room was dim with just the nightlight on, casting this soft glow over the crib and the changing table, and the only sounds were his soft snores and the faint hum of the white noise machine Leana had insisted on.
I shifted a little to get more comfortable, careful not to wake him, and looked down at his face. He had my nose, or at least that's what Leana kept saying, and these dark curls that were starting to come in. Holding him like this had become kind of normal
