The differences between them open up, petals unfolding one by one. Even when I try not to notice them, they're there, the disparities expanding beyond my own imagining, the siblings not sharing much of anything like the same stage of life.
When he looks at her a universe of sorrow, wide and dark, dwells in her daddy's eyes. A lifetime imagined there, and then another more sober one constructed gradually of the realization that this is, in fact, her fate, that our daughter's life will not be long. Yet his eyes make the same wordless promise.