I brushed off every cruel comment and convinced myself not to take it personally. Looking back, I should’ve known there would come a day when I’d finally reached my limit.
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Five a.m. glowed blue on the nursery clock, and Onica was finally quiet against my shoulder. I rocked in the same worn chair where I’d fed Bradley three years earlier. My phone’s alarm would tell me to start pumping before my shower.
A little voice floated in from the hallway.
“Mama? Is it morning-morning or nighttime-morning?”
“It’s shhh-morning, buddy,” I whispered back. “Go crawl in with Daddy. I’ll come get you soon.”
I rocked in the same worn chair.
“Daddy’s snoring.”
“I know, sweetheart. He’s very good at it.”
I heard tiny footsteps pad away, then a thump, then silence. I closed my eyes for exactly four seconds before Onica hiccupped awake.
***
By 7 a.m., I was in the kitchen, pumping under my blazer while stirring oatmeal with my free hand. My laptop was open on the counter, a marketing deck already loading for my 9 a.m. meeting.