Wren

A loud burp leaves Quincy’s mouth as she pats her tummy.

“Good?” I laugh.

“Perfect. Thank you,” she says. “It was just what the baby needed.”

She relaxes in her seat, breathing through her lips. Her red hair is up in a bun, her skin is glowing but you can’t mistake the ‘mom’ look.

“You look beautiful,” I tell her.

She snorts. “I don’t feel very beautiful. I feel like a watermelon, all swollen. Everything hurts, and Ray’s been so busy with what’s ...