Three days after discovering her mother's box, Aria was still processing the emotions it had unleashed.
She'd read through every letter at least twice, had cried over the photos, and had started her own journal for Emma, which was a letter-writing project that felt both therapeutic and important. She wanted Emma to have what she'd been given: proof of a mother's love, preserved in words.
It was a Tuesday afternoon, and Aria was at home with Emma, who was three and a half months old now and becoming more alert and interactive every day. They were having tummy time on the play mat in the living room, as Emma propped on her arms, determinedly holding her head up while Aria encouraged her with silly voices and bright toys.
"Look at you, strong girl!" Aria cooed. "You're doing so good!"
Emm
