belongings.
Inside was the outfit I’d planned to dress her in.
A tiny hat.
And a hospital identification bracelet bearing the name I’d chosen months earlier.
Lucy.
I placed that bracelet in a little keepsake box beside my bed.
For years, I couldn’t bring myself to put it away.
Sometimes, late at night, I’d open the box and run my fingers over the faded plastic.
I’d imagine the girl Lucy might have become.
Her first steps.
Her first birthday.
Her first day of school.
I wondered whether she’d have inherited