Naomi swallowed the lump of anger in her throat. She took a deep breath, centered herself, and turned the knob.
I’m coming, baby. I’m coming.
Chapter 2: The Scent of Midnight
The nursery was a vision of perfection. Painted in soft sage greens and creams, it looked like a page out of Architectural Digest. The crib was an antique French piece, painted gold. The mobile spinning above it was made of hand-blown glass birds.
But the air in the room was wrong.
As soon as Naomi stepped inside, it hit her. A smell.
It was thick, cloying, and undeniably expensive. Midnight Rose. It was Evelyn’s signature scent. A heavy, floral perfume that lingered in rooms long after she left.
It was overpowering in here.
Naomi frowned. Evelyn hadn’t been in here since 8:00 p.m. She had specifically complained about not wanting to go in. So why did the room smell like she had just emptied a bottle of perfume into the air?
Baby Theo—only three weeks old—was twisting in the crib. His face was a mask of red, wet misery. His tiny fists were clenched so tight his knuckles were white.
“Shh, shh, Theo. It’s Naomi,” she whispered, her voice dropping to that deep, humming register she used for scared things.
She reached into the crib.
The moment her hands touched him, he flinched.
It wasn’t a startle reflex. It was a wince. His whole body went rigid, and the scream pitched up an octave, turning into a shriek of agony.
“Oh, baby…” Naomi’s heart hammered. “What hurts? Tell Naomi what hurts.”
She checked the diaper. Dry. She checked the temperature. The room was 70 degrees. Perfect. She touched his forehead. No fever.
She picked him up, trying to be as gentle as possible. He writhed in her arms, arching his back away from her touch.
His back.
Naomi walked over to the changing table and turned on the dim lamp.
“Let’s take a look at you, sweet boy,” she murmured.
She unzipped his sleep sack. She unsnapped the soft cotton onesie.
She peeled the fabric down from his shoulders.
The air left Naomi’s lungs in a rush.
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