Her shirt had slipped just enough to reveal the small dark oval near her left collarbone.
“Still got hers too,” I wrote.
Marissa responded with a heart.
Caleb looked over my shoulder.
“Birthmark club?”
“Apparently.”
He kissed our daughter on the head.
I don’t spend much time wondering what might have happened if Caleb hadn’t noticed that mark.
I don’t need to.
The little girl sleeping upstairs is ours.
And one tiny birthmark made sure she came home with the right family.
