Tears brew in Hank’s blue eyes as he whispers, “Ireland?” “Ollie and I couldn’t imagine a more perfect name for our little miracle.” Hank’s hand trembles as he skims it up the tiny bundle. The tip of his pointer finger stops at her tiny chin, and he cups her round cheek in his weathered hand. His chin quivers, and a tear drips from his lashes, landing on her blanket. “You, sweet Ireland, are going to be the strongest, fiercest, most loved little girl.”
