Lotte stood on a stool and taped paper stars to the ceiling above the empty crib. 'Soon,' she told the bare mattress.
The baby arrived in a car seat that clicked and beeps at the front door. Mom carried him everywhere, always humming and bouncing.
Lotte followed with her star mobile, but the stars rattle and fall silent. She set them on the counter. Nobody looked up.
Lotte tries to teach the baby her star song. She hums and bounces on one foot, but the baby sneezes and buries his face in Mom's shoulder.
Mom laughs and counts his toes. One, two, three. Lotte picks at a loose thread on her sleeve.
That evening, the baby wakes up crying. Mom can't hold him, so Dad hands the wobbly bundle to Lotte.
He stops crying the moment she holds him. His dark eyes open — big and shiny like wet marbles.
His tiny hand shoots out to grab her finger. His grip is surprisingly strong. Lotte goes very still.
'He likes you,' Dad says, and ruffles her hair.
Lotte carries the baby to the crib and hangs her paper-star mobile above him. She taps the side — tap, tap, tap.
'I'm your big sister,' she whispers. The baby's fingers tighten around hers.
The paper stars glow above the crib. Lotte sits beside it, one hand resting on the baby's back, and hums her song.
