The wall by the stairs was covered in framed photos of Luke. My son at his high school graduation. My son holding baby Hannah in the hospital, grinning as if he’d personally invented the whole idea of being a big brother.
I touched the corner of that last one, as I did every morning.
« She’s 18 today, sweetheart, » I said quietly. « Can you believe it? »
I touched the corner of that last one.
***
By 2 p.m., Ailani and Skylar, Hannah’s best friends, had descended into our living room in a whirlwind of glitter and gift bags.
« Mrs. B, the cake is unreal, » Ailani said, dropping her purse on the couch. « Did you make the little raspberry things yourself? »
« I did. Don’t tell Hannah; she’ll want them for breakfast tomorrow. »
« Too late, I already heard you, » my daughter called from the stairs.
« Don’t tell Hannah. »
