Damian
We named her Lila.
The moment Ivy said the name out loud, I knew it was hers. Simple. Elegant. Strong — just like the woman who gave birth to her.
Lila.
Our daughter.
The first time I said it aloud, she opened her eyes.
Dark, stormy blue, like mine. But softer, deeper, like they already understood more than they should.
The week that followed her birth was a blur of sleepless nights and breathtaking clarity.
I never knew exhaustion could feel so good.
Every moment was new, sacred. Ivy was wrapped in a blanket on the couch with Lila sleeping on her chest, my hand resting gently on both of them. Late-night bottle feedings where I whispered promises into my daughter’s ear, my voice breaking even when hers was quiet.
Sam, an intimidating German Shepherd, had turned into a swee
