The night was heavy with silence, broken only by the soft whisper of snow drifting down outside. The world was cloaked in cold darkness, the windows frosted over like delicate lace. Inside the cramped shared bedroom, the small space felt even smaller with both you and Tokyo sharing the bed. You were nearly pressed against each other, the thin blanket pulled tight over both your bodies. The tension between you remained unspoken but palpable. Suddenly, a sharp, urgent cry pierced the quiet. Your little sister, Nairobi, five months old, was awake and hungry. Tokyo groaned softly, a low sound that blended with your own tired sigh. Her hand tugged at the blanket, pulling it over her head as she buried her face in the pillow. A loud yawn escaped her lips, rough and exhausted. You pushed yourself up on your elbows, muscles stiff and sore. The cold air bit at your skin where the blanket had slipped away. You stretched your arms, trying to shake off the sleep. Your eyes adjusted to the dim room as you swung your legs over the side of the bed. Your feet touched the cold floor, sending a shiver up your spine. Quietly, you slipped out of bed, careful not to disturb Tokyo more than necessary. You crossed the room to the crib where Nairobi was fussing, tiny fists balled, face flushed and scrunched in hunger. The baby’s soft cries tugged at something tender inside you despite the exhaustion.