I wrapped a pale blue blanket in white tissue paper that morning and told myself I was celebrating hope.
The blanket was soft enough to feel like a promise. The silver moon rattle caught sunlight as I placed it in a gift bag with careful hands. From the window of my Back Bay apartment, Boston looked uncertain about whether to rain, the spring sky holding its breath the way I’d been holding mine for months—waiting for my sister’s baby to arrive, waiting for my own life to move forward into whatever came next.“I wish I could come,” Kevin said, kissing my cheek before he left for his meeting. “Tell Sierra I’m proud of her.”
Continue on the next page:
