Her father had drawn them a hundred times before sending the design to the jeweler.
“They’re beautiful,” our daughter murmured. She looked at me with sparkling eyes. “I’ll never take them off, Mom.”
I moved her bangs aside and kissed her on the crown of her head.
“You don’t have to. They’re yours forever.”
They were one of a kind.
This spring seemed unattainable.
Hannah practiced the piano every afternoon, filling the house with clumsy scales that gradually transformed into real songs. Rick sat beside her on the bench, tapping out the rhythm with his fingers on his knee.
***
That evening, my husband helped her with her math homework at the kitchen table. I braided her hair while she chewed on her pencil.
“Mom, do you think I’ll do well enough for the recital?” he asked one night.
Rick sat down next to her.
“Honey, you’re already good enough.
