Ross likes to tell me that Annie is our son’s guardian angel, but that idea scares me. Do I want my son’s protector to be someone whose mother gave her up? Ended her existence prematurely? She must be so mad, disappointed and hurt. So I keep her ultrasound images, along with a Hallmark “It’s a Girl!” card that my best friend sent, along with a Christmas tree ornament engraved with Annie’s due date, which my parents gave me the week I found out I was pregnant, locked away in a closet far from my son’s bedroom. […] But Annie still haunts me. When her due date rolls around, or when our son has a bad cough, or with the birth of my sister’s baby girl — I think of Annie. And once every year — on her birthday — I let myself cry. I think about how it would feel to hold her in my arms. And then I ask her to please understand that I did what I thought was best for my child.
— Addie Morfoot