““Marlboro Man returned home late that afternoon and came into the bedroom, eating a chocolate chip cookie along the way. The baby and I had just woken up from a two-hour nap, and he plopped down on the bed next to us. Without speaking, he stroked her little head with his index finger. I watched him the entire time; his eyes never left her. The room was quiet; the whole house was, in fact. Betsy must have gone out to the laundry room to switch loads. Without thinking, my arm found its way over to him and draped across his back. It was the first time I’d so much as touched him since I’d come home from the hospital. He glanced at me, flashed a faint smile, and draped his arm over my middle…and, magically, blessedly, the three of us fell back asleep--Marlboro Man in his mud-stained clothes, me in my milk-stained pajamas, and our perfect little child resting peacefully between our bodies.””
