Fingers of lightning stroked the distant hills.
She stepped out onto the balcony, brushing aside the powder blue streamers, and foil balloons emblazoned with “It’s a boy!”
His first thunderstorm had come and gone.
To her surprise, he had slept through the thunder echoing around the high-rise Commission towers. It was people upstairs arguing and slamming doors that had woken him before he was due for his 2.00am feed.
She was ashamed to admit it – even to herself – but the only one frightened was her. And not by the storm.
It had been bad enough in the hospital. There were nurses and people to help her then. Even so, she had still been scared. Now, home with nobody except the little boy in her trembling arms, she was no longer afraid.
She was terrified.
Copyright © 2017 Bronwyn Joy Hansen. All Rights Reserved. Image; Lightning On Wageningen by Vincent (Public Domain via wikimedia)