It was such a small thing, but I noticed.
Six weeks later, Olivia was born.
Daniel called from the hospital, sounding overwhelmed and delighted.
“Mom, she’s beautiful.”
I heard Brittany laughing in the background.
“Can I come see her?” I asked.
“Of course. We’d love that.”
When I visited the following afternoon, Brittany greeted me warmly.
She was tired, but she seemed genuinely pleased I’d come.
I held Olivia for nearly an hour.
She had Daniel’s dark hair and tiny fingers that curled around mine.
Before leaving, I handed Brittany a small wrapped package.
Inside was the photograph of Paul and me standing outside our house.
I’d had a copy made and placed it in a simple frame.
“I thought Olivia should know something about her grandfather.”
Brittany looked at the picture.
“Will you tell her stories about him when she’s older?”
“I’d like that.”
Daniel stood beside us.
“Dad would’ve loved her.”
