“So, is it hard? Do you want to cry when you put us on the bus?” her face was titled against the car window toward where the bus would eventually emerge. Her tone was mostly kidding, with the slightest, wistful undercurrent. I stared at her profile. Her pert nose exactly as it looked the day she was born more than 11 years earlier. Round cheeks and curly lashes framing eyes that are a mirror image of her dad’s. I’d braided her hair after a bath the night before. She had said to me in the bathroom that morning, “Should I keep my hair in the braid or take it out?” “Keep it in, I think it looks beautiful with those little wisps coming…
Categories: Love