The baby woke at 5:40, and Annie's body knew before her mind did.
It was the letdown — that hot, insistent ache that flooded both breasts the moment the small one stirred in the next room, milk beading at her n*****s before she'd even swung her legs off the mattress.
Six months of this. Six months of her body belonging to a person who weighed fifteen pounds.
She lifted the baby from the crib, settled into the nursing chair, and let him latch. The pull was sharp, then soothing, and Annie leaned her head back against the cushion and stared at the ceiling while he fed.
Down the hall, the twins — five years old, feral and wonderful — would be awake in twenty minutes. The day would start as it always started. What never started was anything else.
Richard was already gone by the time she
