Jack leaned back, resting his head against the cushion behind him, he sighed turning slightly so he could see her. “You don’t have to do everything alone, Molly.”
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The only sound was Scarlett’s faint, breathing, and the soft hum of the fridge in the kitchen.
Molly leaned her head against his shoulder. Her body relaxed into his almost without thought, as if she’d forgotten what it felt like to let someone else carry a piece of the weight.
“I’m a single mom,” she said finally, eyes drifting shut. “That’s the definition of alone, Jack.”
And just like that, in a cramped little apartment that still smelled faintly of bleach and baby shampoo and something warm and real, the silence between them was comfortable.
Molly drifted off to sleep holding Scarlett
