Waiting for Her Brother

Every night at 3:17 AM, my baby monitor picks up a voice singing lullabies

from the empty nursery upstairs. My daughter died three years ago, but the voice sounds

exactly like hers would have if she'd grown up. Last week I finally worked up the courage

to check the camera footage. There she was, a translucent figure of a little girl,

maybe five years old, sitting in the old rocking chair we never threw away.

She was singing to a bundle of blankets, cradling them like a baby. But here's what

made my blood freeze. When she looked directly at the camera, she whispered "Mommy,

when is my little brother coming home?" I'm eight months pregnant with a boy.