One Hundred And Twenty-Two

Six months later, and Crystal’s world had never felt so whole. The gentle warmth of morning light streamed through the sheer curtains, bathing everything in gold, her world now painted in soft hues of joy, in the smell of baby powder, the sound of lullabies, and the rhythm of tiny breaths.

The baby, her son, was the most perfect thing she had ever seen.

Plump cheeks dusted with a natural pink. Thick, curly lashes framing dark, curious eyes. His tiny fingers had a habit of curling around hers with surprising strength, and he often babbled as if trying to tell stories only she could understand.

Crystal would spend hours simply watching him sleep, hand on his belly, feeling it rise and fall. His skin was smooth as milk, his body healthy and warm, a perfect mix of her and Adrian. Sometimes she swore she saw Adrian’s quiet intensity in the baby’s gaze, and other times, her own fierce determination when he stubbornly refused to sleep.

The living room echoed with soft music and gentle laught