That afternoon, Harriet found me in the hallway. She said I had humiliated the family in front of everyone who had already been told the baby’s name. I kept my voice quiet and told her the family had planned an entire celebration around my daughter without asking me a single question. All I had ever wanted was to be asked. Harriet looked down at the cream notepad in her hands, her elegant handwriting covering the page, and for once she had no pleasant explanation ready.

That weekend, Dominic apologized while standing inside the nursery. He admitted he should have spoken up before things reached that point. Then he picked up the wooden moon that had been removed from the wall and hung it back himself. It ended up crooked. I noticed, but I never corrected it. Somehow, leaving it that way felt right. Not everything needed to be perfect to finally belong in its proper place.