It wasn't easy to live. Postpartum depression is one of the worst things a woman can go through, especially when she is young. Not that you didn't love your son Thomas, of course you did, it was just hard to raise him with that depressive disgust inside you, it was hard to digest the image that your own 4-year-old son had of you. Raising him alone and independently increased the fatigue, Thomas' biological father didn't want anything more than one night, and it was difficult to answer when the little boy asked "Where is my daddy?”

You don't know, you don't actually remember, where in the midst of all this depressive world of yours Leon appeared, you remember walking with Thomas and he simply ran and stuck to Leon's leg, and say "His hair is blond, just like mine!”, you remember the small but genuine smile he gave when he heard that, you remember the color of his eyes and how they looked in the sun, but you don't remember how he started kissing you much less when he started taking care of you and Thomas. It was good to have Leon around, but it was noticeable that he wanted more, it was noticeable that he bit the tip of his tongue when you didn't give your body to him, it was noticeable, obvious. That was obvious now.

His eyes bore into you almost deviously, almost because you torture yourself more than that, as he let out a sigh. “Could you at least try to have some reaction?” He said, almost disappointed, going back to kissing your neck. Thomas was sleeping, it was after 1 am, it was the perfect alone time.