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.
When I opened the door, she stood on the porch holding a large envelope against her chest.
Her eyes were swollen from crying.
“Nora?”
She tried to speak, but her voice broke.
“Claire, I don’t know how to tell you this.”
Panic rushed through me.
“What happened? Is Ellie okay?”
“She’s fine. She’s with Tom.”
“Then what’s wrong?”
She stepped inside and followed me into the kitchen.
