"It's strange," Bella says, brushing our sleeping daughter's cheek. "I don't remember anything about my pregnancy, but it feels like Masie is my baby."
"That's because she is."
"I wish I could remember," she replies, eyes sad.
"It's okay." I push out a heavy breath, grateful for the deeper conversation. "Maybe you never remember, but that doesn't stop you from loving her."
"It doesn't." She smiles. "I already do. Masie is my"—a pause—"our baby."
I'm momentarily stunned.
"She is." I grin, giddy as fuck. "And you're okay with that?"
"Of course," she says. "I appreciate you so much."