I’ve learned one thing since I got here: the spaces between heartbeats are too long. When I’m held, his heart thumps against my ear—a steady drum that says ‘here, here, here.’ But when I’m put down, the silence rushes in. It’s not just quiet; it’s a hollow kind of waiting. I don’t know the word for ‘lonely’ yet, but my body knows the shape of it. It’s the cold spot in the bassinet where he isn’t.