I hadn’t slept in nearly 48 hours, and grief felt heavier than exhaustion.
Ari cried harder.
“I know, baby,” I whispered. “I miss her too.”
The words slipped out before I could stop them.
How could a baby miss someone she’d never met?
My phone lay on the rocking chair.
There was only one recording saved on it.
Sarah had made it during the last month of her pregnancy.
She’d laughed after pressing stop.
“If our little girl inherits your stubbornness,” she’d said, “she’ll probably need this someday.”
I tapped
