Mace will not stop crying. I hold up his maraca, shake it to calm the little man but he flails his arms and lets out another ear-splitting scream. I try to rock him but it doesn’t work. Frustrated, I exit the room with the crying boy in my arms. Soft music booms from Amelia’s speakers. I stomp all the way to the living room where she’s seated on the floor while working on her laptop. I clear my throat, she takes one look at me and her godson, then the music goes off. “What happened?” she asks. Trying to pry Mace off me is futile. He won’t stop crying and he won’t let anyone carry him. I sit on the couch and she follows suit. “Cathy? What happened?” she asks. “I don’t know.” Mace stops crying long enough to catch his breath. Tears coat his lower lashes, he blinks and my heart breaks. “Mama doesn’t like it when you cry, Macey. Please, don’t cry. Stop crying, okay?” Amelia squats in front of the
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