Rose stretched one tiny hand.
Her fingers curled gently around mine.
My eyes filled with tears.
Steven should have been here.
He would have adored this little girl.
Before he died, he’d often talked about becoming a grandfather.
He once announced that he intended to teach our future grandchildren how to bake lemon cakes.
I reminded him that babies couldn’t eat cake.
“Then I’ll spend the first few years perfecting my recipe,” he’d replied.
That memory made my throat tighten.
Marianne touched my shoulder.
“I wish Dad could see her.”
I nodded.
“Me too, sweetheart.”
We found a bench nearby.
I settled down with Rose resting against my chest.
Marianne sat beside me.
After a moment, she looked concerned.
“Mom, is your hip still hurting?”
“A little. But sitting down helps.”
“Would you like me to hold Rose for a while?”
I looked at her in mock horror.
