of survival. Proof that the day my son entered the world, a weaker version of my life began ending too.
Luca slapped one damp hand against my cheek and laughed.
Behind us, the people who loved us called his name.
In front of us, the tide kept coming in, silver under the evening sky.
I kissed his forehead and whispered the promise I should have made to myself long before I made it to anyone else.
“No one gets to spend us again.”