Rowan

Mom ran her fingers across Selene’s head, admiring her fine white hair. She looked every ounce the doting grandmother instead of a ball of uncertainty, like Maeve. Maeve was pacing back and forth near the fall wall of my bedroom, her arms folded across her chest and her head bent as she tried to organize her shock.

Everyone else had cleared out to give us some privacy. Just Mom, Hanna, Maeve, the baby, and I remained, and Mom had just finished feeding the ...