After several seconds, he looked up at me.
“She’s perfect.”
That was it.
No questions.
No hesitation.
No fear.
To Ben, Brenda wasn’t a diagnosis or a list of future appointments.
She was his sister.
And from that moment forward, he acted as though she belonged partly to him.
He helped choose her clothes.
Whenever she cried, he sang to her with the confidence of a professional musician and the talent of someone who definitely was not one.
He showed her photograph to anyone willing—or unwilling—to look.
His teacher.
The neighbors.
Cashiers.
Family friends.
Once, he proudly showed Brenda’s picture to a delivery driver who was simply trying to hand Daniel a package.
Every evening, Ben stood beside Brenda’s bassinet and whispered goodnight to her as though she understood every word.
Watching him love her so easily made something inside me relax.
I thought perhaps Ben was going to handle becoming a big brother better than any seven-year-old possibly could.
