“Mommy doesn’t like me do that,” she declares and flashes me a toothy grin. “I like it very much.”
I swallow and look down to where she’s still holding on to me. So tiny. How can her fingers be so tiny? I move my thumb and stroke her teeny fist.
My daughter.
Gingerly, I turn my hand to capture one of hers in mine, caressing the now sticky little fingers.
“Wanna play hairdresser?”
Not moving my eyes off the precious treasure in my palm, I lean over and kiss the ketchup-covered tips. And nod.
Nera
I’m floating in that incorporeal void between wakefulness and slumber until a faint draft invades the room from where the balcony door was left slightly ajar. A chill skims over my exposed flesh. As I blink away the sleep, for a moment, my mind is blissfully blank, but then yesterday’s event
