I nodded, not trusting my voice.
The nurse placed this impossibly small person in my arms, all squishy-faced, with a patch of curly dark hair, and everything else fell away.
This is my life now, I thought. Loving her, lifting her, and figuring out a nickname for her that means more than a number.
Then a nurse came over with a clipboard.
“What’s her name?” she asked Eliza cheerfully. “For the birth certificate?”
My heart clenched. I braced myself to hear it and swore I would swallow my reaction for this baby’s sake. I would smile and nod and start the long work of helping her carry this burden.
But Eliza, still pale and sweaty, looked across the room directly at me.
Her voice came out hoarse but clear: “Her name is Camille.”
I burst into tears so suddenly that I nearly dropped the baby.
“What? But… why?” I whispered.
Eliza smiled weakly, tears starting to stream down her face, too.
“Because of the way you fought for her, even when I didn’t understand it. That changed everything. She needs someone like you to show her how to live. So… why not give her your name?”
I held my niece tighter, feeling something settle deep in my chest.
My voice came out steady now, strong in a way I’d never heard before: “Then I’ll be twice the woman she needs. I swear to you, she’ll never walk alone.”
