Before my husband died, he asked to donate his organs. But hours after his death, his doctor ran after me, stopped me, and said, “Jake trusted me with something secret three weeks ago… but he didn’t want you to see it while he was still alive.”

“Absolutely not,” I’d told Mark.

“You rejected it too fast.”

We were sitting on our porch, his hand resting on my six-month belly.

“It’s a strong name.”

“For an orange.”

Mark laughed.

Even then, the sound caught slightly in his chest.

I looked at him.

“Cecelia?”

“My grandmother used to sing that song with the name in it.”

“You said she sang everything badly.”

“That’s not a reason to name a human being.”

“It made you smile.”

“Cecelia,” I said quietly.

The baby kicked beneath his hand.

Mark’s eyebrows lifted.

“She kicked you.”

“Strong approval.”