She’d climb onto a kitchen chair, swinging her little legs while I divided her curls.
She was talkative, affectionate, and wonderfully particular about how she wanted things done.
Once, while I was tying her hair, she asked an unexpected question.
“Auntie Claire, do you have any kids?”
My hands stopped moving.
For a moment, I didn’t know what to say.
Then I answered gently.
“I had a little girl, sweetheart. But she died when she was a baby.”
Ellie turned toward me.
Her brown eyes were serious.
“That’s sad.”
“Yes,” I whispered. “It is.”
She thought about that for a second.
Then handed me a pink ribbon.
“This one goes on the left.”
I smiled through the ache in my chest.
Children have a remarkable way of returning you to the present.
I had no idea how important those ordinary moments would become.
***
Two weeks after Ellie came home, Nora arrived at my house looking devastated.
