Page 1 of Something Like Shelter

CHAPTER ONE

Willa

The days no longer had any order.

They blurred instead—dissolving around the edges, each moment slipping through my fingers before I could even grab hold of it.

Morning was only a suggestion.

Afternoon, a guess.

And night crept in nearly unnoticed, folding gently around my shoulders while I swayed at the window, my newborn tucked against my chest.

The house had become impossibly quiet.

For the first several weeks, my home had been full of noise—laughter that carried down the halls, footsteps crossing rooms as someone paced with my baby, quiet reassurances, the soft whoosh of the dishwasher.

Now, though, it felt like the house held its breath with me.

The silence was impossibly loud.

Like it had expanded into the space left behind after my family and friends had slowly returned to their own lives.

In the early days, someone had always been there.

Someone to pass me a fresh cup of tea.

Someone to tell me that the baby would sleep eventually.

Someone to hold my daughter while I took a shower three days overdue.

And as much as I’d appreciated them, it felt important for me to learn to do this on my own, to settle into this new life.

Now, there was only this small universe of two.

Me and my baby.

In a house too large for two fragile, sleepless hearts.

“It’s going to be okay,” I whispered, though I wasn’t sure which of us needed to hear it more.

I believed it. Somewhere deep in my soul. Buried under all the insecurities and uncertainties.

Sure, the fatigue had become something that lived deep in my bones. And, yes, my hair was limp and greasy. Parts of me ached that I’d never been aware of before.

But beneath the exhaustion, the loneliness, the quiet, the disorienting pace of this new life—there was wonder.

There was a fierce, yet breath-stealing tenderness that I’d never felt before.

It arrived without warning, settling in my chest at the smallest of things: the curl of tiny fingers, the delicate weight of her little body, the soft cooing sounds she made.

Love, I had learned, was an all-consuming thing.

Immense.

Ever-spreading.

Limitless.