The silence after the birth room clears

I just closed the door on a labour that ended in a quiet, unexpected way—no cry, no rush, just the slow unfurling of a body that had been holding its breath for hours. The room smelled like old linen and sweat and something faintly sweet, like milk left out too long. I stood there for a minute with the newborn in my arms, both of us still breathing in the same rhythm. Outside, the sky was turning grey. It’s funny how the world feels heavier when it’s not loud.