How long has it been? Since she’s held something so delicate? So pure? Innocent? She’s stiff, almost awkward. Your melodic laughter fills her ears. “Do you want me to take him?” You ask, smiling as you watch her. Your son, now sixteen months, asleep in her arms. She shakes her head and offers a small, weary smile. “Él es tan pequeño.” She says, voice barely above a whisper. You just smile, sitting beside her on the couch and leaning your head on her shoulder.