The soft cries of Luna echoed through the sunlit nursery, her little fists balled up near her pink cheeks. Zane was already fast asleep in his crib, one hand up like he was about to give a dramatic monologue in his dreams.
Talia leaned over the bassinet, gently patting Luna's back, her exhaustion clinging to her like a weighted blanket. Dark circles framed her eyes, her curls tied in a lopsided bun, and a muslin cloth tossed over her shoulder. Motherhood was beautiful, but it was war too, and she was a tired, underpaid soldier.
Then the door creaked open.
"I brought wipes," Ethan's deep voice rumbled from behind her. "And... uh, some snacks for you. I Googled what breastfeeding moms need."
He stood awkwardly, holding a pack of wipes, a bunch of granola bars, and what suspiciously looked like a pineapple.
Talia blinked at him. "You brought a pineapple?"
"I panicked," he admitted, running a hand through his hair. "You like fruit... right?"
