I pulled the thin blue hospital blanket over Brooklyn’s shoulders and tucked the scratchy fabric neatly around her chin.

“Mommy?” she whispered, her voice tiny in the corner of the silent room.

“I’m right here, sweetie,” I said, lying down on the edge of the mattress beside her.

“Is Rosalie going to fit in her tiny clothes when we take her home?” she asked, staring up at the white ceiling tiles.

“She’ll be small for a long time,” I said, taking her little hand and holding it between both of mine.

“But she’s going to grow every single day.”