I loaded everything into one washer—my work uniforms, Willow’s tiny onesies, towels, her favorite elephant blanket.
Every coin I had left clinked into the machine.
I pressed start.
And then I sat down.
Willow stirred, letting out a soft whimper. I rocked her gently, wrapping her in the least dirty blanket I could find from the pile.
“I know, baby,” I whispered. “Just a minute.”
She settled quickly, her small hand curling into my shirt.
And that’s when it hit me.
The exhaustion.
Not like a wave—more like gravity suddenly doubling.
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