Six days later, on our seventh wedding anniversary, I invited both sets of parents to dinner. And when my husband raised his glass, he had no idea that I had prepared a very different anniversary surprise.
The first thing that broke my heart wasn’t hearing another woman’s voice.
It was hearing my husband complain about pictures of our daughter.
Our baby, Sophie, was only three months old.
That afternoon, I’d spent nearly twenty minutes lying on the nursery carpet with my phone held above her face, hoping to capture one of those rare little smiles she made while sleeping.
When it finally happened, her cheeks lifted.
A tiny dimple appeared on the left side of her face.
The same dimple her father had.
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