In her room, she shut the door, stripped off her dress, and pressed a cloth to her chest, expressing milk until the pressure eased. It felt like betrayal and necessity at the same time.
Then the crying upstairs changed.
It didn’t stop.
It ran on and on, weaker and weaker.
And then suddenly it stopped.
Janelle sat frozen, listening.
Above her, Marcus’s voice broke. “Come on. Please. Just try. Just once, please.”
Silence.
That silence had a shape Janelle recognized. The shape of a baby who was about to let go.
Her body rose before her mind agreed. She walked to the stairs. Her hand found the railing. Her knuckles went white.
