“After a Night Shift, I Fell Asleep at the Laundromat with My Baby — Opening the Washer Left Me Speechless”

Willow is seven and a half months old, at that sweet age where she smells like warm milk and sunshine. Her tiny smile can erase the stress of mounting bills. Her dad left the moment I told him I was pregnant.

“I’m not ready for this,” he said, like fatherhood was a shirt he couldn’t wear. By my fifth month, I stopped checking my phone for him.

Now it’s just me, my mom, and Willow against the world. Mom helps while I work, and I tell myself the tight feeling in my chest is gratitude, not guilt. But she already raised kids once. She didn’t sign up for late-night bottles and diaper changes at 61, yet she does it without complaint.

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