Epilogue
BlairThe cotton sheet was soft to the touch, delicate and decorated in pink rosebuds. I lifted a corner, carefully, then folded it back and exposed the chubby little arm, clenched in a fist beneath it.
“Little fingers,” I sang, softly. “Little toes.” I stroked my baby daughter’s back and sighed.
Only two days until her first birthday. The party was planned, a little celebration with Samson, me, and our Emily, with her grandpa already confirmed to attend. Grandma? That was a different story.
I clutched the crib’s side rail and leaned over, studied her features by the soft glow from her twinkling star nightlight.
She looked so much like Samson it made my heart swell. The pregnancy hadn’t been easy, and neither had the birth – thirty six hours and induced labor, oh my god – but
