∘₊✧──────✧₊∘
Sometimes it's easier
to pretend that
you don't care than to admit
it's killing you
∘₊✧──────✧₊∘
☾ She was like
a moon - part
of her was always
hidden away ☾
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──
I never imagined my life would spiral into chaos the way it did. Between long shifts at the hospital, caring for my 6-month-old son Scott, and managing a household turned upside down by my husband Rafael’s drinking, I often felt like I was grasping at straws. Rafael, a once noble police officer, had succumbed to the bottle—each night, he returned home in a haze, transforming our home from a sanctuary into a battlefield.
It was a cold night with a full moon, casting shadows that flickered like ghostly whispers on my living room walls. Scott was sleeping soundly in my arms, his tiny breaths a calming rhythm amidst the storm brewing in our lives. As I snuggled him close, the familiar creak of our front door pierced the silence. Rafael was home.
I rushed to place Scott in his crib, unwilling to let my helpless little boy witness the mess his father had become. Once satisfied that Scott was blissfully unaware, I returned downstairs. I found Rafael slouched on the couch, nursing a bottle of whiskey, his words slurred and thick like the fog outside.
“Rafael, how many times do I have to tell you not to come home drunk? What word do you not understand?” I scolded, my voice taut with frustration.
“Come on, Melissa, you know I drink to help me with my job. Do you want us to live a difficult life?” he mumbled, the stink of alcohol wafting through the air.
I felt the weight of my anger collide with the sharpness of reality. “I’m not…” I started, but the doorbell interrupted me—an unexpected distraction in our nightly drama.
“Go take a shower, you stink,” I snapped, pushing past him to answer the door.
As I opened the door, my heart skipped a beat. The porch was empty, but then something caught my eye—a small woven basket lay at my feet. Had someone left their belongings? Curiosity clawed at me, and I bent down to inspect it. My breath caught when I discovered a sleeping baby nestled inside.
“Please take care of my child, her name is Nyx,” the note read. Panic and confusion intertwined in my gut.
I couldn’t leave this precious child abandoned on my doorstep. I reached into the basket. The baby stirred, her eyes fluttering open to gaze up at me with an innocence that made my heart ache.
“Hi, baby. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you now. How? I don’t know, but I will figure it out,” I whispered, overwhelmed but strangely resolute.
I took Nyx into the kitchen, preparing a bottle of warm milk, my mind racing with possibilities—who was her mother, and why had she left her this way?
As I fed the tiny girl, I felt a swell of love—nothing like the bitterness I had experienced with Rafael, but something pure and sweetly innocent. I couldn’t help but think fate had brought Nyx to me, perhaps an angel disguised as a baby. I hoped her spirit could mend the cracks in my heart.
