Later, I began adding little things I wanted her to know about the world: how rain sounded against a window, how Renata made cinnamon toast, how our grandmother could grow roses where everyone else grew weeds.

When a nurse asked if I had chosen a name, I told her I was thinking about Josephine.

Renata nearly cried when she heard it.

“Grandma would have pretended she was embarrassed,” she said.

“Then she’d have told the entire neighborhood.”

I laughed.

It startled me, the sound coming out so easily.

The baby kicked, and Renata leaned closer as though she could join our conversation.