I smiled.

But something tightened inside my chest.

Ellie was five years old.

The same age Lucy would have been.

I had spent years imagining what my daughter might look like.

And suddenly, standing in my sister’s living room, was a little girl who resembled those dreams.

I managed to remain cheerful through our visit.

But afterward, when I got into my car, I cried.

Not because I resented Nora’s happiness.

I didn’t.

I was grateful she’d found Ellie.

I simply missed the daughter I’d never been able to raise.

As the days passed, Ellie began growing attached to me.

She called me Auntie Claire.

Whenever I visited, she’d bring me two colorful hair ribbons.

“Can you do my hair?”

“Of course, sweetheart.”

“Two pigtails,” she’d insist. “Not one braid.”

I’d laugh.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And don’t pull too hard!”

“I’ll be careful.”