A nod.
I show her how to carefully open the lid then set it on her nightstand.
“What is all this stuff?”
“Things from the day you were born,” I explain, pulling out her tiny hospital bracelet and Anna’s larger one. The hat that seems incredibly small. A card from my teammates at the time, congratulating us.
“From the Eagles?” she asks, running her fingers over the cartoon stork.
“No, from the Breakers,” I say. “That’s where I played when you were born.”
“Oh.”
“Who’s that?” she asks, pointing to a picture of Anna.
“Your mom.”
“No, I mean, who’s she holding?”
I grin and tap her nose. “You, pumpkin. See how tiny you were?”
Her eyes are wide. “That’s me?”
“Yup.”
“Wow.”
I show her the lock of hair from her first haircut, the invitation from her first birthday, a card with her footprints stamped on it, the onesie we brought her home in, an ultrasound picture.
Things I never would’ve thought to save, but Anna did.
And thank God for that.
Because in this moment, it means I have something tangible to give Chloe.
“Was Mommy scared?”
The question catches me off guard. “When she had you?”
She nods.
I think back to that day Anna went into labor, remember her joking complaints about being forty-million weeks pregnant in the days before her contractions started in earnest. I think about her as we drove to the hospital and when she was in that bed giving birth to the brightest piece of my life.
“No,” I say softly. “I think mostly she was ready to meet you.” I smile. “We both were.”
Chloe runs one finger over the picture of Anna holding her newly born. “She loved me.”
Not a question.
A statement.
“More than anything.”
“More than you?”
I chuckle softly. “We loved each other so much,” I tell her. “But you, baby. You made us both realize how big our hearts could become.”
Her mouth trembles a little, but she nods.
