“But thank you for bringing her.”
He nodded.
Eleanor sat beside me and touched Lucy’s tiny hand.
“She has Anna’s fingers.”
I looked closely.
She did.
The same long fingers.
The same little crease beside the thumb that I remembered from the photographs I’d later seen.
I hadn’t known Anna had those hands.
I hadn’t known anything about her.
But somehow, looking at Lucy felt like finding a missing piece of myself.
We stayed at the hospital until sunrise.
There were forms to sign.
Questions to answer.
Arrangements to make.
There was also a funeral to plan for a daughter I’d met only through photographs.
Before we left, I asked the doctor for one thing.
“Can I see her?”
He understood immediately.
Anna was in another room.
I walked in alone. She looked peaceful.
I touched her hand.
“I’m sorry I didn’t find you.”
There was, of course, no answer.
