Page 177 of King Luna

It’s written on the side.

In her handwriting.

A hard lump forms at the base of my throat as I lift each flap of the box, afraid to disturb its contents.

But my breath catches when I find what’s draped on top: a squishy, quilted baby blanket rests above a stack of photos, baby shoes, and more, all of which once belonged to me.

A piercing shard of grief wracks my chest as I stroke the fuzzy fabric. I forgot this blanket was patterned with baby forest animals.

Then I see it: a little, gray wolf, frolicking in the center square with a butterfly perched on their nose.

Tears drip onto the blanket, a desperate, hitching exhale escaping my lips. I clutch the quilt, bringing it to my chest.

It’s like she left it here for you, Little Wolf,I mindlink.

My heart pounds faster as I hug the soft, silky blanket, draping the bottom half over my belly to hug it around our baby.

Looking around the room, I let out an aching breath; I wish I could share this moment with my mom. I wish she could meet Noah, see the new house, and hold my newborn with me when they arrive. I wish Dad could take them outside, teaching them all about the forest and bugs like he taught Noah and me without either of us knowing each other.

But as I hold the blanket tight to my chest, my forehead warps through a pained smile. It’s like she did it on purpose—as if she knew to wrap up this box as a perfect gift for me and this baby, mailing it to our new home at this exact moment in the future.

Hoisting myself to my feet, I drape the blanket over the crib, then take a few steps back. I laugh despite my sore heart, shaking my head; even the colors of my baby blanket match Little Wolf’s room, soft blues, greens, yellows, and pinks of the forest reflected in the mural we half finished on the walls before today’s official move.

“Thank you, Mom,” I whisper, my lip wobbling through a smile.

I stare in awe as I search the rest of the box, finding a perfect picture of my parents and me to hang up in Little Wolf’s room to see who their grandparents were. Setting the photo on the white wooden dresser, I grip my panging heart, imagining Noah and me propping Little Wolf up on our hips to get a better view, telling them everything we can remember about Grandma An and Grandpa Takahiro.

But then I freeze. Something about this photo looks familiar—and not just that I recognize it from my mom’s shelf, growing up. The second I remember what I found buried in Noah’s hall closet while packing, my eyes widen.

Scurrying down the hall, I know exactly which half-unpacked box to seek out: the one with Noah’s favorite baby picture of him and Rainn, and theonlyphoto he had of his whole family of four. I cup the frames in my hands, my grin widening at Noah’s precious squishy face in the family photo, his mouth wide in what must’ve been screeching laughter from Ritchie lifting him high in the air. To their right, Lilian snuggles a newborn Rainn to her chest, smiling up to her eyes like Noah does at his happiest. And as Noah cups baby Rainn in his lap in the second photo, his little toddler hands awkward and stiff from how cautiously he holds her tiny body, I groan; he looks so amazed by her, his face lit up so brightly that I can’t stand how cute it is. He held the purest love for his baby sister, even then, knowing she’d be his buddy for life.

I’m so screwed. There’s no way in hell we’re waiting long to give Little Wolf a baby sibling to grow up with—not after seeing this.

Giggling, I speed-walk back to the nursery, gripping our baby as they push against me in shared excitement.

Once I have the photos propped on the dresser, adding a few of Mom’s knickknacks she kept from when I was a baby, I step back, my fingertips plastered over my growing smile.

It’s perfect. It’s like Mom decorated it with me.

I can’t wait to show Noah. To fantasize with him about what Little Wolf will think someday as they discover more and more about the world.

But then another idea strikes.

As I rummage through the kitchen, Noah stops in the hallway in nothing but boxers, his hair still dripping around a rising, mischievous grin.

“I guess I shouldn’t have been waiting in bed. Are we nesting at 12:30 a.m.? And recently crying?”

I sputter out a laugh, covering what must be my bright red nose. “Yes, and yes. Can you help me find some paper? I have to write Little Wolf an important letter.”

Noah perks up, his eyes brightening to match mine. Without asking a single question more, he rummages through our things with me until we gather paper and pens, reconvening at the kitchen table.

Noah clicks his pen rapidly, his nocturnal eyes glimmering in the dim light from down the hall. “So, what are we writing?”

A gushing smile spills over my cheeks, my shoulders lifting in delight. As I tell Noah the story about Mom’s box, his features melt into absolute warmth, grief, and excitement with me.

But the second I finish telling him what we’ll be writing down in honor of Mom’s gift, Noah stoops over his paper, beginning his letter.

I do too. I jot down all my thoughts about Little Wolf’s upcoming arrival, my fingers shaking as I pour my heart out over every joyous, fearful, and adoring thought I have about meeting them.

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