Page 250 of Wild Then Wed
But I cut her off. “Ruthie.”
Wren freezes. “What?”
“Her name is Ruthie.”
There’s a second where the room feels like it tilts again—not in a dizzying way, but in that quiet way when something just clicks.
Wren’s eyes widen, her hand frozen mid-air above the baby’s swaddle. “Are you sure?” she asks. “We don’t have to pick right now, maybe we should look—”
But I shake my head, already sure. “It’s perfect for her.”
And it is.
She’s Ruthie. There’s something soft and strong in it.
Anna nods, scribbling it down. “Middle name?”
Wren’s voice is quieter this time. “She should be named after you.”
Anna looks up, nodding like she agrees with her.
Wren runs a finger down the baby’s tiny nose. “After all, you helped get her here.”
I snort, trying to lighten the mood because my throat’s already getting too tight. “Ruthie Sawyer?” I ask. “Ruthie Raymond?”
Wren shoots me a look. “Okay, yeah, maybe not that.”
She picks up Ruthie’s tiny hand. “Ruthie Ray.”
I look down at her again—this tiny little thing skin like silk—and it lands somewhere deep in my chest.
Ruthie Ray.
It’s good. It’s strong. It’s hers.
Anna tilts her head. “How is it spelled?”
“Like a ray of sunshine,” Wren says. “Because that’s what she is. In all of this…she’s the light.”
I don’t realize I’m crying until I see it—one fat tear that drips down from my jaw and lands softly on Ruthie’s arm. I wipe it with the back of my wrist and look at Anna, who’s still holding the pen, waiting.
“Add Anna,” I say with a wobbly voice.
She looks up at me, confused. “What?”
“Her middle name,” I say. “Add Anna to it. Ruthie Ray Anna Hart.”
Wren turns to me slowly. Anna just stares at us, her mouth partly open.
“So she always knows where she came from,” I add. “So she always has a piece of you.”
Anna covers her mouth with one hand, and a single tear slides down her cheek. She doesn’t say anything—just nods, likethe words are stuck somewhere in her throat—and then lowers the pen again.
“Done.” She clicks the pen closed. “Ruthie Ray Anna Hart.”
A name built from all of us. From love. From loss. From the hope that gets you through both, the hope that brought us all here.
Across the room, Paul’s got one hand over his mouth, his shoulders trembling. Cindy’s wiping at her eyes with the cuff of her sleeve, trying to hold herself together. Neither of them says anything, but they don’t have to. Their faces say it all.
