I held Clara for the first time later that morning, after Hannah asked the nurse to help me learn how.

I was terrified of every movement.

“Support her head,” the nurse said gently.

“You’re doing fine.”

I looked down at the tiny person resting against my forearm.

Her cheeks were round and pink, her hair dark and impossibly soft.

“She looks like you,” I whispered to Hannah.

“Everyone says that about whichever parent they’re standing beside,” she replied, and smiled for the first time in a way that felt almost familiar.