Yesterday, she sent me a picture from her daughter’s birthday.
Her daughter was reaching toward her cake, with the reddish mark visible just above the neckline of her dress.
The message beneath the picture said, “Still got it.”
I laughed much harder than I expected to.
Then I sent her a photo of our daughter sitting in Caleb’s lap while trying to eat a piece of wrapping paper.
Her shirt had shifted slightly to one side, revealing just enough of the tiny dark oval near her left collarbone.
Caleb glanced at my phone.
“Still got hers too,” I wrote.
Marissa responded with a heart.
Caleb glanced at my phone.
“Birthmark club?”
“Apparently.”
I don’t spend much time thinking about what might have happened if Caleb hadn’t been paying attention.
He kissed the top of our daughter’s head.
I don’t spend much time thinking about what might have happened if Caleb hadn’t been paying attention.
I don’t have to.
The little girl sleeping upstairs belongs to us.
And one tiny mark made certain we knew it.
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