A Little Later That Evening
Ethan is finally down again, wrapped in soft blankets, cheeks still a little too warm, but his breathing is steady. Noah had stayed just long enough to make sure I ate something, leaving quietly with a kiss to Ethan’s forehead and a soft, lingering squeeze to my shoulder.
I’m sitting on the couch, blanket draped over my legs, the kind of tired that sinks into the bones. I’m not crying anymore, but there’s a rawness behind my ribs that hasn’t fully closed.
A knock comes at the door. One that’s not tentative.
I know it’s Liam before I even open it.
He’s holding a tote bag in one hand and a six-pack of some craft root beer in the other. His brow furrows when he sees my face—like a part of him physically aches from it—but he doesn’t rush me. Doesn’t try to make
