Nolan, Weight
The baby clutches a fistful of blanket like she’s angry at being woken, indignant and small and completely unaware of what she was just carried out of. Nolan almost laughs, but doesn’t have it in him yet.
His face streaked black, his eyes still stinging, and none of that has caught up with him. It will, later, all at once. Right now there’s just her weight against his chest, and how much lighter it is than everything he just walked through and his fears that he’d fail.
Discover more from MeanderingPassage
Subscribe to get the latest posts sent to your email.