The first thing that broke my heart wasn’t hearing another woman’s voice.
It was hearing my husband complain about pictures of our daughter.
Our baby, Sophie, was only three months old.
That afternoon, I’d spent nearly twenty minutes lying on the nursery carpet with my phone held above her face, hoping to capture one of those rare little smiles she made while sleeping.
When it finally happened, her cheeks lifted.
A tiny dimple appeared on the left side of her face.
The same dimple her father had.
I was so excited that I practically jumped off the floor.
I immediately sent Elon the photograph.
*“She smiled in her sleep! Look at her! I think she was dreaming about you.”*
Then I sent two more pictures.
One showed her adorable little feet.
The other showed her resting beside the stuffed elephant his mother had bought her.
Three photographs.
