Chapter 17 - Clara’s first word wasn't "Mama."
It wasn't "Dada," either, much to Alex’s quiet disappointment during his Tuesday visits.
Her first word was "Door."
We were in the apartment. I was packing my bag for work, and she was sitting by the entryway. She pointed a tiny, chubby finger at the front door.
"Door," she said, clear as a bell.
I dropped my keys.
I stared at her.
"What did you say, bug?" I whispered.
"Door!" she shrieked, slapping the floor.
I started to laugh. I laughed so hard tears spilled down my cheeks. Of all the words in the English language, my daughter chose the one thing that had defined our survival.
I picked her up and spun her around.
"Yes," I told her, kissing her cheeks. "Door. We can open them. We can close them. We can go wherever we want."
When I texted Natalie later, she replied immediately: She knows her history. Smart girl.
May you like
I didn't tell Alex.
Some milestones belonged only to us. To the two girls who had waited in the dark and finally found their way out.
