Page 99 of Your Soul to Keep

I knew before I knew.

My hands shook as I set up the gift table.

The tablecloth, a pristine white, I bought new. A fresh new life deserved all things fresh and bright and shining. I wrapped fairy lights in tulle and tacked them around the edge of the table. In the center sat a basket wrapped in ribbon and light, waiting for me to fill it.

I set an empty vase, the one Aaron would fill when he showed up later, discreetly behind the basket.

Why was it so easy for some people to start a family?

Why were Nadine and Aaron, who didn’t have pregnancy in their plans anytime soon, blessed with a baby and not me?

For me, it would have been a celebration.

For them, it was shock and anxiety. They’d adapted, but they had a journey in front of them. They’d need the support of our small village.

Wren said Nadine was interested in becoming a chef. When the time came, I would help her.

I laid the blessings book on the table with a pen for all the seasoned mothers to write down their tips and tricks, hopes and countless prayers.

I eyed it warily.

Would it be weird if I wrote in it?

I pictured the box under my bed.

Picked up the book.

Grasped the pen in my trembling hand.

And in a small act of defiance, leaned over the first crisp, white, page. In a flowing script much like Nan’s, I gave them my wish.

Write yourselves a beautiful story.

I laid the pen down without signing my name. As much as I considered my children to be a part of me, I never got a chance to be a mother.

Crossing the room, I retrieved my bag and locked the door to the event room. Back at the table, I opened it. Tiny onesies, baby booties, burp cloths, and receiving blankets. I tucked them into the basket one-by-one.

Last, I lifted the baby blanket I embroidered for Nadine and Aaron’s sweet baby out of the bag and ran my fingers over it one last time. It was beautiful, every stitch sewn with love and hope and prayer.

My throat tightened.

I sniffed as tears welled in my eyes.

Taking a deep breath, I nodded to myself and thanked their sweet baby for putting my needles back in my hand. I hoped one day they would treasure it.

I carefully folded it into the basket and pulled the plastic wrapping up around the handle, tying it all together with a huge yellow bow.

A different story.

My journey to motherhood would be different.

But still good.

Bracing myself, I unlocked the door and waited for the ladies to arrive.

Hours later, I slid the key into the lock of my front door and shuffled inside.

My neck ached with tension, the muscle in my jaw twitched from forcing myself to smile, and my head thudded. I huffed out a laugh at the memory of Harley and Noelle’s games. There was no faking my laughter then.

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