Brooklyn sat on the edge of the cushions, clutching the corner of her scratchy blue hospital blanket in her left hand.

A brand-new box of eight crayons sat open on the low wooden table in front of her.

“Look at this drawing, Mommy,” Brooklyn said, pulling a blue crayon across a sheet of white printer paper.

She was drawing four stick figures standing under a bright rainbow.

I sat down beside her on the little couch, turning sideways to keep the stiff fabric of my jeans off my stitches.

“That’s very pretty, Brooklyn,” I said.