For the time being, Ellie would remain with Nora and Tom.
That was the home she knew.
They were the people she’d begun calling Mommy and Daddy.
No matter what happened, none of us wanted her to feel that loving one adult meant losing another.
I returned to work and tried to maintain my usual routine.
I answered emails.
Bought groceries.
Paid bills.
But every time my phone rang, my heart jumped.
One afternoon, Nora sent me a photograph.
Ellie was sitting on the living room rug surrounded by colorful blocks.
Her dark hair was tied into two crooked pigtails.
*Ellie insisted on doing her own hair today,* Nora wrote.
I enlarged the picture.
She was smiling proudly.
I traced the outline of her face with my eyes.
Her cheeks.
Her curls.
That tiny dimple.
My throat tightened.
I wanted to drive to Nora’s house immediately.
Instead, I called her.
