We sit in dappled sunlight, the amber sky of sunrise settling in again on another quiet start to the morning.
She lies in my arms, dreams punctuated with silent whimpers, clawing at phantoms and mirages in her mind.
We sit in dappled sunlight, and my heart skips a beat as I stare at closed eyes, her yellow-shaded skin in striking contrast against my skin.
She needs the dappled sunlight, to wash her jaundice away. She needs a warm milk breakfast, needs my warmth, my breathing, my heartbeat regulating hers.
Two days home, my little baby girl.