After working an exhausting night shift at the pharmacy, I dragged myself to the laundromat with Willow, my seven-month-old daughter, sleeping heavily against my shoulder. I was so worn out that I nodded off while the washer rumbled. When I eventually jolted awake, my laundry sat neatly folded\u2014but something inside the washer made my stomach drop.<\/p>\n
I\u2019ve been picking up every extra shift I can. When someone calls in sick or the store\u2019s short-staffed, I volunteer, even if it means I barely sleep. The additional pay is the only reason I can afford formula, diapers, and the endless list of things a baby needs.<\/p>\n
Willow is seven and a half months old, soft and warm and smelling like baby lotion and sunlight. One smile from her can crack through even my worst day. Her father bailed the moment I told him I was pregnant.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m not ready to be a dad,\u201d he said, as if fatherhood was something he could shrug off like an itchy sweater. By the time my pregnancy reached the halfway mark, I stopped hoping for a text from him.<\/p>\n
Now it\u2019s just me, my mom, and Willow\u2014our tiny three-person team. My mom watches Willow while I work, even though she\u2019s 61 and already did all of this once. I tell myself the heavy feeling in my chest is gratitude, not guilt.<\/p>\n
Our apartment is small and old, a two-story walk-up with thin walls and a permanently leaky faucet. The rent is manageable, but there\u2019s no washer or dryer. Laundry piles up fast, and I usually end up hauling it down the street to the laundromat with its flickering neon sign and floors that always feel slightly tacky.<\/p>\n
That morning, after my shift, I walked inside barely able to keep my eyes open. The laundry basket overflowed. Willow dozed in her jacket, tiny fists curled under her chin.<\/p>\n
\u201cWe\u2019ve got to get this done, baby,\u201d I whispered.<\/p>\n
Mom was still asleep when I left. She\u2019d been up half the night with Willow while I worked, and I didn\u2019t want to wake her.<\/p>\n
The laundromat was almost empty\u2014just the low hum of machines and the familiar scent of detergent. A woman in her fifties was unloading a dryer. She glanced over, smiled, and said, \u201cYour little girl is precious.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThank you,\u201d I murmured.<\/p>\n
After she left, the place went quiet. I loaded everything into one washer\u2014my uniforms, Willow\u2019s onesies, towels, and her little elephant blanket. I fed in the last of my quarters, pressed start, and sat down in one of the hard plastic chairs.<\/p>\n
Willow fussed, so I rocked her gently. I didn\u2019t have a clean blanket, so I grabbed one from the dirty pile and wrapped her carefully. She sighed, settled against me, and the weight of exhaustion pressed down.<\/p>\n
Just for a second, I told myself. Just a moment.<\/p>\n
Then I fell asleep.<\/p>\n
When I opened my eyes, the sun was cutting across the floor in bright slants. Panic shot through me. Willow was still nestled in my arms, safe\u2014but something felt off.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
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