Dolly’s Point of View
I sit on the edge of the bed, staring at the crib where my daughter sleeps. Her breathing is soft but uneven, and every tiny movement she makes sends a fresh wave of anxiety crashing over me.
The doctors said she was weak, that she needed constant monitoring, that she was born fragile. She has a sickle cell anemia. It is a kind of genetic blood disorder.
My hands tremble as I reach out, brushing a delicate curl away from her forehead. She looks so peaceful now, but earlier—earlier, she had screamed for hours, her little body wracked with pain I couldn't soothe.
Tears well up in my eyes, and I blink rapidly, willing them away. Then, my mind goes to Knoxx.
It’s been months, and still, he hasn’t said a word about marriage. Not even an empty promise. Nothing.
The humiliation burns in my chest. Everyone assumes we’re already married. They call me his wife, the mother of his child, but he never corrects them, never claims me as his. He never denies it either, but that
