Two fathers trying to smile.
That was enough.
Yesterday, she sent me a birthday photo.
Caleb had noticed a birthmark. Marissa had noticed a hat.
Both clues had seemed too small to matter.
Both mattered because someone refused to ignore them.
Our daughters are almost one now.
We don’t see Marissa and her husband often, but we stay in touch.
I laughed harder than I expected.
Yesterday, she sent me a birthday photo.
Her daughter was reaching for cake, her reddish mark visible above the neckline of her dress.
The message underneath said, “Still got it.”
I laughed harder than I expected.
Then I sent her a picture of our daughter sitting on Caleb’s lap, trying to eat wrapping paper.
Her shirt had slipped sideways just enough to show the tiny dark oval near her left collarbone.
Caleb looked at my phone.
“Still got hers too,” I wrote.
Marissa replied with a heart.
Caleb looked at my phone.
“Birthmark club?”
“Apparently.”
I don’t spend much time imagining what would have happened if Caleb had looked away.
He kissed our daughter’s head.
I don’t spend much time imagining what would have happened if Caleb had looked away.
I don’t need to.
The little girl asleep upstairs is ours.
And one tiny mark made sure we knew it.
