The morning light was just beginning to spill through the curtains when she walked down the hallway — barefoot, quiet, the way she always moved when checking in on her boy.
His door was cracked open. A breeze must’ve nudged it in the night. She peeked inside, her eyes immediately softening.
There he was, curled on top of the sheets, still half-asleep. His cheeks were flushed, his chest rising and falling gently.
One hand rested near his waist, the other curled by his lips like he’d been sucking his thumb in his dreams. He looked peaceful… and just a little messy.
She stepped into the doorway, leaning against the frame with a small, knowing smile.
“Mmm… my messy little boy,” she whispered under her breath.
He stirred, blinking up at her. His eyes widened — caught, vulnerable. Embarrassment rushed into his face like a rising tide. He tried to sit up, but her voice stopped him before he could speak.
“No need to hide from Mommy.”
She crossed the room slowly, sitting on the edge of the bed. Her fingers brushed a lock of hair from his forehead.
“I know what you were doing,” she whispered gently. “And it’s okay.”
He looked away, lips trembling slightly, unsure whether he should apologize or explain.
“But you didn’t finish, did you?” she said, voice low and velvety. “Poor thing…”
He swallowed hard, still silent. Her hand rested lightly on his chest.
“Sweetheart, you don’t have to be shy with me. I want you to feel good. I want you to enjoy yourself — and I want to be here when you do.”
The silence between them deepened, not awkward — just thick with anticipation and trust.
“If you want Mommy to stay,” she said softly, “just nod.”
He did — barely — but it was enough.
She smiled.
“That’s my good boy.”