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The baby sucked, his eyes shut for the long pulls and open for swallowing, unseeing the whole time. The strong tugs at her breast returned her to a more familiar self. She pressed her lips to the fuzz at his hairline and nibbled. These animal moments of motherhood obliterated everything else briefly. Eventually he drifted off, her nipple hanging from his lips like a cigar.
Five Tuesdays in Winter
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