Two sets of socks.
Two babies who somehow managed to need us at exactly the same time.
Sometimes I’d stand over their cribs late at night and watch them sleeping.
They were so small that I was afraid to touch them too firmly.
I’d put my hand near their faces and watch their tiny fingers curl around mine.
Sometimes Rosie would move in her sleep until her hand touched Hannah’s.
I thought that was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.
I never imagined that one day I’d be staring at one empty crib.
Then Rosie died.
Nine days after we brought them home.
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