The soft afternoon light filters through the gauzy curtains, casting a warm glow over the living room. I'm nestled into the plush corner of our sectional, the fabric cool against my skin. Naomi is curled up beside me, her small body radiating heat like a tiny furnace. The rhythmic sound of her breathing is punctuated by the occasional soft snore, a sound that never fails to make my heart swell.I run my fingers through her silky hair, marveling at how something so simple can fill me with such overwhelming love. The scent of her baby shampoo—a mix of lavender and vanilla—wafts up, mingling with the lingering aroma of the Ramen I made for lunch.I can never get enough of you.Just a month ago, I was sitting in a sterile hospital room, the harsh fluorescent lights burning my eyes as I waited, heart in pieces, to hear if my baby would survive. The memory of that fear, that soul-crushing dread, still haunts me. The beeping of machines, the hushed voices of doctors, the antiseptic smell tha
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