We reassured her that any mother could lose her composure under those circumstances. Besides, it had only happened the one time. ‘Does that matter?’ Liese said. She was right. We had seen all our lives how the smallest moments could turn out, in retrospect, to be signs. We had seen this, but we had not understood what it would mean for us until we were mothers ourselves, when our days appeared to be made up of nothing but such minor incidents, every moment, every misstep, a possible indication.
