PART 3

“Excuse me. Apparently I have excellent observational skills.”

Even Marissa’s husband smiled.

Before we left, we took one photograph together.

Both babies.

Two exhausted mothers behind them.

Two fathers attempting to smile.

That was enough.

Caleb had noticed a birthmark.

Marissa had noticed a handmade hat.

Both details seemed tiny.

Both saved us because someone refused to dismiss them.

Our daughters are almost one now.

We don’t see Marissa and her husband often, but we still stay in contact.

Yesterday, she sent me a birthday picture.

Her daughter was reaching toward a cake, the reddish mark on her shoulder visible above her dress.

Underneath the picture she wrote:

“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 chew wrapping paper.

Her shirt had slipped just enough to reveal the small dark oval near her left collarbone.

“Still got hers too,” I wrote.

Marissa responded with a heart.

Caleb looked over my shoulder.

“Birthmark club?”

“Apparently.”

He kissed our daughter on the head.

I don’t spend much time wondering what might have happened if Caleb hadn’t noticed that mark.

I don’t need to.

The little girl sleeping upstairs is ours.

And one tiny birthmark made sure she came home with the right family.