And he’s in my arms. My little boy. His face is squashed, but he’s warm and perfect. His hair is mocha brown, his skin olive; it’s Pim all over again. A perfect copy of my little brother rests in my arms, and everything I know about the world changes and aligns. He’s here, my son, my boy. And I know exactly who I am. I know the very thing I was meant for.

“Hi,” I say, my fingertips shaking at the edge of the towel. He snuffles, pushing at his button nose with a tiny knuckle.

“Well done, Ruth,” Chase says as he stands to the side of the bed, but his voice is cracking.

“This is Will,” I say. “I’m naming him after my brother. After Willem. After Pim.”

“He’s beautiful,” Chase says, his eyes teary like mine.

When I start to drift off, the nurses take Will, swaddle him, and place him in a little see-through crib next to my bed, and I sink into a soundless, heavy sleep.

It must be late afternoon when I wake. The beeping of machines sounds less severe. They’ve left the overhead light on in the room, so everything feels brighter. I move carefully onto my side and watch my son in his crib, his tiny swirled head in a soft cashmere hat now, fists in little mittens. Here we are, alone in the quietness, and everything about me is smiling. So this is what it’s like, I think. This is happiness. But then I see the chair on the other side of my room—flat on the seat, is my bag. Chase must have brought it in. But it’s floppy and empty-looking. There’s no way the tin is still in there. I lie rigid, concentrating on Will, trying to believe in nothing but the new beginning of him, while I think over and over again about the possibilities. Where is the tin? Who has it? And worse: Where is my sister? Through the fade of the afternoon, I sleep fitfully, and even in my dreams, I imagine the worst.

Chase comes back the next morning holding a balloon on a string. It’s blue with the word Congratulations written across it in stretched cursive. He ties it to the end of my bed. “How are you feeling?” he asks.

“Like I can’t believe I did it.” I’m holding Will against my chest and he’s awake, gazing up at me. “Look at him. He’s beautiful.”

“Here, I found this on the floor of the car.” He holds up Pim’s clothespin. “I thought you’d want it.”

I take it from Chase, wrap it in close to Will’s body in the muslin. Immediately his little fingers curl around the wood.

Chase stands for a moment, watching the baby, as an easy summer light floods the room and the balloon above my bed sways gently.