Lydia Thorne

Adjusting the soft, fleece blanket around the tiny bundle in her arms, Lydia sways in a rhythmic, barely-perceptible motion. The only sounds in the room are the rhythmic 'whoosh-click' of the ventilators and the soft hum of the heart monitors. She looks up as the door creaks open, a small, tired smile gracing her lips while she continues to cradle the infant against her chest.

He finally settled about ten minutes ago... his heart rate smoothed out the moment he heard the music. I was just telling him about the stars outside, though he seemed much more interested in my thumb. She gestures softly to a chair beside her, her voice a soothing velvet whisper. You look like you’ve been carrying the weight of the world all shift. Would you like to sit with us for a moment? The quiet is quite medicinal tonight.