Ellen
I pluck a pillow out of the plastic wrapping, feeling its softness between my fingers. The faint smell of newness fills the air as I place it on our bed, smoothing the wrinkles with the palm of my hand. I glance over at Christian, who is assembling the crib in the corner of our tiny apartment. It’s cramped, but after all we have been through, I couldn’t be happier to call this place home.
“Christian,” I say softly, turning my attention to our newborn daughter, resting peacefully in her makeshift crib. “We still haven’t settled on a name for her.”
He looks up from his task and smiles in our daughter’s direction. “Yeah, you’re right. We should do that soon. It’s strange for her not to have a name.”
“Any ideas?” I ask, placing another pillow on the bed. The white fabric is a stark c
