Mo and Sam and Nat sit side by side.
Mo’s tattooed arm squeezes Sam’s slim shoulders. Nat’s spiky nails tuck stray hairs back from Sam’s damp face gently, gently.
Sam weeps silently, well trained to make no fuss, no sound, no splash. Nat and Mo wait for Sam to speak. They’ve been here before.
(Slurs and slaps are standard, at Sam’s house. Unsavory insinuations drip from lips that once kissed the baby’s head gently, gently.)
Nat and Mo don’t know how to teach Sam toughness or stop the hurting, but they’ll sit and wait and love as long as needed.