Instantly, Benjamin’s arms and legs jolt outward. It’s a newborn reflex. A built-in response to being startled. It means Benjamin is healthy.
It also means he’s crying again.
“No,” I whimper. “No, no. It’s okay. It’s alright.” I collapse into the chair next to his crib and press a gentle hand to his warm tummy. “It’s okay, buddy. You’re alright.”
The slow rocking of my touch slowly eases him back to a dozing sleep. But every time I try to pull my hand away, he jolts awake again.
Finally, too exhausted to fight it, I rest my cheek against the bars of his crib and fall asleep with my palm over his little chest.
I don’t know how long I lie like that, but when my eyes blink open, my body is riddled with pain.
The burn on my arm is stiff and pulsing, my cheek aches from being smashed betw
