A Mothers Deadly Instinct
Language: en
The night our night nurse, Maeve, finally left our house, she held my twenty-day-old son in her arms and cried for nearly ten minutes. It was a performative display of grief that felt heavy and suffocating. She gently patted his swaddled back, weeping into the soft fibers of his cotton blanket. "Oh, sweet little Ollie... Grandma Maeve is truly going to miss you so much." My mother-in-law, Evelyn, stood beside her with tear-rimmed eyes, visibly touched by the display of devotion. I, on the other hand, felt a bone-chilling cold creep up the back of my neck. In the hyper-professional world of…