The silence after the birth room clears

I just closed the door on a labour that ended in a quiet C-section, and the house feels like it’s holding its breath. The baby’s cry was sharp, then faded into something softer — not quite sleep, not quite stillness. I stood there for two minutes with my hand on the doorframe, listening to the empty room. It’s always like this: the space between the noise and the calm is where you remember why you stay. No one talks about that part.