The next morning arrived quietly, pale sunlight filtering through the curtains as Cleora stirred awake.
Sleep still clung to her, making her movements slow and deliberate as she blinked away the remnants of dreams, then she turned her head slightly, her gaze softening instantly when she noticed Coco curled tightly against her.
Her daughter's breathing was steady, her dark hair splayed messily across the pillow.
A fond smile tugged at Cleora's lips.
Just like when she was little.
The memory flashed in her mind— Coco as a child, always clinging to her in sleep, as if even in dreams she feared separation.
Cleora hesitated, then carefully brushed a stray lock of hair from Coco's face, her touch feather-light.
After a good second, Cleora finally found the will to slip quietly out of bed, careful not to disturb Coco's sleep, the need for water growing apparent.
