Ben’s arrival was, as always, a balm; he appeared like a sunbeam in the kitchen doorway, cheek pillow-creased and big eyes still blinking away sleep, his stuffed giraffe dangling from a tiny hand. She felt her heart open, her face relax in a smile, her joy, in such short supply, reserved exclusively for him. “There’s my guy,” she said, and his face opened too and she lifted him into her arms, kissing both her son and his giraffe good morning, breathing him in, the sun itself.
