“Well it’s not much, but this is it. This is home.” I said to her as I ditched my hospital suitcase and diaper bag by the door. She was quiet in my arms as she looked blankly up at me.
For the last couple of months I had been decorating the only spare room in the apartment. I had painted it pink, naturally, with red roses here and there, and had bought a crib and other things I had found with a small portion of my low salary. But by the time I had brought her to the room she was asleep, so I carried her around the house a bit more, not wanting to let go of the baby, my baby, just yet.
YOU ARE READING
Drowning in Roses
Short StoryWhen everything, the people she loves and everything she's held onto, is dying around her, roses seem to be the only things full of life around her.
