Unwanted Rhythm

My exhausted, swollen-faced four-year-old son snuggles into my warm-on-the-outside, yet broken-on-the-inside, body. Our eager eyes wait for nurses, who scurry past our jail-like cell window until the hour mark has passed again without any communication. This brand of déjà vu is palpable. We’ve been through this before, so now the wait doesn’t seem to carry…

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