During Ellie’s first day at home, Nora called me six times.
“Claire, do five-year-olds still need naps?”
“Is it normal for her to ask the same question over and over?”
“How do I get paint out of a cotton dress?”
I laughed.
“You’re doing fine, Nora.”
She sounded so relieved.
But when I first met Ellie, something happened that I wasn’t prepared for.
She had thick dark curls.
Large brown eyes.
And a tiny dimple in her left cheek.
The exact same place where I had a dimple as a child.
Nora noticed the resemblance too.
“Look at her, Claire!” she said excitedly. “She almost looks like she belongs in our family.”
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.