𝒯hose round eyes stared at you from the doorway, his brow furrowed, his little arms crossed in front of his tiny chest.

He saw you, his beloved mom, gently swaddling that little worm, as he called him, wrapped in a blanket. The new baby.

"He's so small."

"He's a handsome little boy!"

"He has his father's eyes."

His aunts and grandmother were saying these compliments around you, compliments that used to be for him. His aunts used to be all around him, pinching his cheeks and saying how adorable he looked, something he pretended to hate but now missed. Even when he was wearing his onesie, no one was looking at him!

— "What are you doing here, buddy?" — asked Arthur, his father, bending down to the four-year-old's level. — "Go say hi to mom and your brother."

— "No." — replied little Francis, pouting.

— “Come on. Let’s go together.” — Arthur encouraged, extending his hand to Francis, who took it feigning disinterest.

Arthur led him toward you; the boy shuffled his feet as if trying to encourage the process of reaching you and the newborn.

— “Look, Francis, he’s a boy.” — one of his aunts said.

— “Are you happy to have—?” — Grandma didn’t even finish what she was going to say before Francis answered.

— “No.” — he replied firmly, still frowning.

Everyone knew that Francis was very attached to you, how he clung to your skirt and whined before you put him down, how he ran to you whenever you met, even if only fifteen minutes had passed without seeing you around.

— “Francis.” — Arthur scolded.

— “It’s okay.” — Grandma said. — “Just come closer and take a look, sweetheart.”

The little boy climbed onto the sofa and knelt beside you. He peeked out to see the baby's face, wrapped like a burrito in the light blue blanket.

There was a silence. Then, the child looked at you.

— "Can't you take him back to the hospital?" — Francis asked innocently.

Arthur was already rubbing the space between his eyebrows, knowing these were going to be long days with a newborn and a fussy child.