Grace Hartley Sterling turned two on a March morning that smelled like rain and new beginnings.
Emma found her standing in her crib—not waiting to be lifted out like she used to, but actively trying to climb over the railing like a tiny prison escapee.
"Grace, no!" Emma rushed over, caught her just as one leg swung over. "You can't climb out. You'll get hurt."
Grace looked at her with those blue eyes—James's eyes—and said very clearly: "Down. Now."
"Please," Emma corrected automatically.
"Down now please," Grace amended, not sounding apologetic at all.
This was two. Not the sweet, compliant baby who'd mostly just eaten and slept and smiled at everything.
This was a whole person with opinions and demands and an impressive stubborn streak that she'd definitely inherited from both pare
