No Return from Regret
Language: en
To coax my feverish son, Leo, to take his medicine, I started humming a lullaby. But halfway through, his little face scrunched up in disgust. He swatted the bowl from my hand. "Mommy, you sing terribly," he whined. "I want Daddy to sing." Shards of porcelain scraped the back of my hand, drawing pinpricks of blood. "Don't be difficult," I scolded gently, picking up the pieces. "Your dad? He doesn't know any lullabies." Leo let out a sleepy yawn. "He does too!" he mumbled, his eyes fluttering shut. "When he sings to Miss Nina while she rests her head on his lap, it sounds way better than…