One year later...
Megan sat on the edge of the large oak-framed bed, her back slightly curved as she held her baby girl to her chest. The infant cooed softly, white lashes fluttering against porcelain skin. Her hair — fine, like morning mist — was already a shade of pure white, an exact match to Megan's own. Megan still wasn't used to it. She brushed a stray lock off her daughter's tiny forehead and stared, almost in awe.
"Still doesn't make sense," Megan murmured, more to herself than to him, her thumb gently brushing the soft tuft of white hair on her daughter's head.
