The afternoon light fell soft and yellow across my in-laws’ living room. I sat on the edge of the couch with my newborn in my arms, every muscle below my ribs still screaming from the C-section two weeks earlier.
My free hand drifted, without thinking, to the long rope of hair falling past my waist, the one feature I shared with my late mother.
Daniel had kissed my forehead at five that morning before his three-day work trip.
“You sure you’ll be okay here, baby?”
The one feature I shared with my late mother.
“I’ll be fine,” I told him.
He had hesitated in the doorway. “Mom’s been… try not to take her personally, okay?”