She arrived early, remembered every detail of our son’s routine, and sent pictures throughout the day.
In one, he would be stacking blocks.
In another, he would be laughing in his high chair with fruit smeared across his cheeks.
The house was often cleaner when I returned than it had been when I left.
Most importantly, my one-year-old son adored her.
The moment Megan stepped through the door, his face lit up.
He would lift both arms and kick his feet until she picked him up.
Continue on the next page:
