Isabel came downstairs, and I thought she was crying.
She went straight to her mom, quiet and flustered.
As she passed by, I asked, “What’s wrong? Are you crying?”
She said, “I don’t know.”
Turns out—she had pulled one of her last baby teeth.
She has one more.
I told her I was proud of her.
That she was strong to do it on her own.
Then she handed me the tooth.
“Here,” she said. “Keep it.”
I didn’t know if she was joking or serious.
But I took it.
Just in case.
Sometimes you don’t get a second chance with moments like that.
She only has one more to go.
And I don’t want to miss the ending.
