I bundled Willow in her jacket, stuffed the dirty clothes into a bag, and headed out.
The laundromat was quiet, filled with the hum of machines and the scent of soap. One woman, maybe in her 50s, was pulling clothes from a dryer. She looked up and smiled warmly.
“Thanks,” I replied.
Once she left, it was just me and Willow. I loaded everything into one washer—her onesies, my work shirts, towels, even her favorite elephant blanket—fed in the quarters, hit start, and sank into a hard chair.
Willow fussed a little. I rocked her, swaying until she closed her eyes again. I had nothing clean to cover her, so I grabbed a thin blanket from the dirty pile and wrapped her up. Warm and soft, she rested against me. My head felt heavy.
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