Morning came with weight. Not the kind that pressed from the outside, but the sort that settled deep in her limbs, as though sleep had only skimmed the surface of her body and left everything underneath untouched. Mia lay still for a moment longer than she should have. The ceiling above her held steady, pale and indifferent, while her thoughts moved slower than usual—thick, reluctant, as if even they needed convincing to begin the day. A soft sound broke through. One of the twins was shifting. A small, restless whimper followed. Mia turned her head slightly, her gaze softening almost immediately. “Hey…” she murmured, her voice low, still rough at the edges. She pushed herself up, the movement slow, her body resisting before finally giving in. The floor met her feet, cool and grounding, and she walked over, lifting the baby with practiced ease. “Good morning,” she whispered, brushing her lips against soft skin. Noah stirred too, small hands stretching, searching. Mia exhaled
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