❝ –– perhaps it’s true that things can change in a day. and when they do, those few dozen hours, like the salvaged remains of a burned house—the charred clock, the singed photograph, the scorched furniture—must be resurrected from the ruins and examined. and suddenly, they become the bleached bones of a story.
“…I’m gonna go on a hunch and say you had a Georgina in your class while growing up?” Owen laughed. He hadn’t thought of meanings behind baby names, at least not at such an in-depth level as Teddy had. He’d chosen George in honor of his apprentice, a resident that had died too young but in the end, had died doing the right thing.
“Yes to George. No to Georgina. Yes to Marie… should we be writing these down?”
“You may be right,” Teddy said, smiling demurely. “But we’re deciding something that could change our baby’s life, here, Owen! You don’t see any Margots or Shanices becoming surgeons around here, do you? Though, I guess, whoever named me Theodora obviously didn’t think it through,” she grimaced.
Because this baby was more important to her
than anything, Teddy wanted to make sure she
did e v e r y t h i n g right. If it meant losing
sleep over a name, then so be it.
