When people ask me about that Thursday, about the delivery room, the phone, the black bags in the driveway, I tell them the truth.
I tell them that for one terrible hour, my daughter was called a disappointment by two people who should have known better.
Then I tell them about a nine-year-old with a bandana, who held her sister in the grass and said she was the best thing she had ever seen.
Nobody in that story was ever a disappointment.
Not Antonia.
Not Addie.
