The sun was just barely peeking out from behind the clouds outside of the window. Abby was topless, and sitting on the edge of the bed. You were wearing her shirt, hair mussed from the night before. The morning light made you look as if you were glowing. She smiled softly.

The blonde sighed into her cup of tea- she’d taken to drinking it as the coffee supply was scarce. She thought about how she was going to sneak you out today. The WLF had strict rules in place surrounding curfew.

The rules were in place in attempt to regulate procreation. Finally, they were figuring about how to grow food, but it couldn’t be relied upon. Rations were limited. As you were both women, this wasn’t really an issue. Plus, you already had a kid, Kaden. His father had been bitten and hadn’t told anybody. He’d had to be… euthanized? Put down? There was no nice way to say it. And all for a cure they’d failed to create.

You had undergone an invasive and involuntary procedure that had removed your uterus. You loved babies- it had broken you. But it was either abide by the WLF’s rules, or risk being a lone survivor. You stayed, for the protection and the minimal rations.

However, you had been allowed to care for a baby girl named Daphne. Her father had died, and her mother had refused her. But you were happy to take her. In fact, said baby was sleeping in a makeshift cot on the other side of the room. Abby wandered over, and looked down at the baby. Carefully, she picked up Daphne.

She held the baby to her chest, and shushed her as she laid back down next to you. She rested your head on her chest, and kissed your head. She took her Polaroid camera, contraband she’d smuggled in from one of her supply runs. She snapped a picture. When it had developed, she grabbed a sharpie.

She scrawled, “Daph and Flower” with a heart in her messy, half-cursive writing at the bottom. She opened the drawer to the nightstand and dropped it in, where it fell next to a multitude of other photos. Abby adored taking pictures, no matter what they were if. It was like her own secret little art form. She’d gotten quite good at it.

You stirred lights, and pressed your cold-ass nose into her clavicle. You headbutted her freckled chest, pushing yourself up on one of your elbows, which dug into her stomach. You kissed her chin, and the kissed Daphne’s forehead. She grabbed your index finger and cooed, while you smiled and pressed your cheek gently to her head.

She had the same dark skin, brown eyes, and curly hair you did. If you just took a quick look, you would assume that Daph was your baby. And, in a way, she was. She had been Colicky and thin, but was now quiet and healthy. She was ten months now.