No Return from Regret

Summary

To coax my feverish son, Leo, to take his medicine, I started humming a lullaby.

But halfway through, his little face scrunched up in disgust. He swatted the bowl from my hand.

"Mommy, you sing terribly," he whined. "I want Daddy to sing."

Shards of porcelain scraped the back of my hand, drawing pinpricks of blood. "Don't be difficult," I scolded gently, picking up the pieces. "Your dad? He doesn't know any lullabies."

Leo let out a sleepy yawn. "He does too!" he mumbled, his eyes fluttering shut.