James
I watch from the doorway: my Jade-Eyes, in the nursery with the daughter she gave me, rocking her, cooing over her, talking to her.
She doesn’t see me, engrossed with Cara. Our baby goos and gurgles at her mother, a tiny hand reaching for a long copper lock of Charlotte’s hair, swinging loose draping over Cara’s creamy wrap.
So beautiful…
Both so beautiful…
I think Charlotte must have just given Cara her feed. She still has the towel over her shoulder she uses when she’s burping her. Even from here, the towelling looks damp. The top she’s wearing, not quite buttoned up, is stained too.
As I watch, Charlotte rises from the rocking chair her mother painted so beautifully for her, lays Cara in her cot and brushes herself down. As she turns to drop the shoulder towel into a laundry
