I did not give Madison the scene she wanted.
I crossed the carpet, bent down, and pulled the blanket back out. A scrap of tissue clung to the sailboat border. I shook it loose, folded the wool against my chest, kissed my son on the cheek, and told him I was tired.
No speech.
No tears.
Just the front door closing behind me.
What Madison did not know was that my husband Frank had waited almost thirty years for that baby.
Before he died, he made me promise one thing about the gift he had saved for our first grandchild. He did not want it handed over in an envelope. He did not want it lost under a pile of boxes and bows.