it. They were both asleep within minutes, but we stayed an extra twenty, just to watch over them.
Molly went to our room to shower while I locked up the house. I’m heading to our room to join her. I find her sitting on our bed with a box beside her, her head bent as she looks at something on her lap. The only light on in the room is the bedside lamp on her nightstand, so I don’t see what she’s looking at until I approach. It’s Gemma’s baby book. Gray’s is on the nightstand; I’m sure waiting on Molly to look through next.
I put the box on the floor and sit beside her.
“I was so sure she was going to have black hair like you,” Molly says, lovingly running her finger over Gemma’s first baby picture. It’s of Molly holding our daughter right after she gave birth. She’s wrapped in a white blanket with pink stripes. It was before she was given her bath, so she’s still got white stuff on her face. Nancy took the picture without us realizing it. The look on Molly’s face as she gazed down at our daughter is breathtaking.
“I’m glad she didn’t. I would have loved her with any color hair, or no hair at all, but I’m glad she took after you. She’s my little mini-Molly.”
She laughs, but it’s strained.
“And I’m glad Gray took after you. Even down to his gray eyes.”
I run my finger over the tiny bracelet taped next to the picture. “That day was so terrifying.” I shudder when I recall all of the blood Molly lost on the way to the hospital and the worry that accompanied it. “I thought I was going to lose one or both of you. I’ve never been so scared in my life.”
Until now. One of my worst fears has always been Molly or one of our children being taken away from me. Now that fear has become a reality, one I’m not sure I’ll survive.
“It certainly was a frightening experience.” She lifts her head and smiles. “But we both made it.”
She flips through the next several pages, which mark several milestones. We silently read each one; our minds conjuring up each memory.
I glance down at the box at our feet, then bend over and grab something from inside it. I finger the faded paint of a purple and yellow rose.
“I was so worried Mom would get mad because I let you paint over my lunch box.”
Chuckling, I ask, “Did she?”
“No, she was more impressed with the detail you put into the rose.” She giggles. “She joked and said she was going to take it from me and use it as her lunch box at work.” She grabs it and sets it on top of Gemma’s baby book. “When I got home each day for the first few weeks, I hid it in my room because I was worried she’d actually do it.”
I laugh. “Can you imagine your mom strolling into the post office carrying that around?”
“Why not?” She shrugs. “I loved this thing and was so proud to carry it around.”
I lean over and kiss her temple. “I think you were a bit biased.”
“Maybe, but it’s still a beautiful lunch box.”
She leans over and puts the lunch box back into the box along with all of the other things we’ve collected over the years. Four-leaf clovers sealed in plastic, the multitude of things I made her out of seashells, receipts of our first official date, two positive pregnancy tests, and a bunch of other stuff.
“Tell me a story,” Molly requests quietly.
Reaching over her, I grab Gray’s baby book and open it to where his first baby tooth is taped to the page.
“Remember when Gray lost his first tooth?”
A soft smile graces her face, and her eyes momentarily light up. “Yeah, we had a spat on how much he should get for his first tooth.” A light giggle leaves her lips. “I wanted to leave ten dollars, but you said if we start out leaving them so much, they’d expect to get at least that much for each tooth.”
I nod, my lips tipping up at the memory. “I went back after you had gone to sleep. I was going to switch the two dollars we left him for a twenty-dollar bill. But when I went into his room, he was already awake. I caught him just as he found the two dollars. He was so excited. There was no way I could have