I’m staring at the nicest stroller money can buy. I know that because I joked with Misha about adding it to our nonexistent registry, “just in case any billionaires decide to gift us something.” I stroke the leather handle tenderly. “This is too much!”
Nessa raises her hand. “That one is from their grandmother.”
Misha was right: his mother has gone completely overboard. But I have to fight back tears of gratitude as I continue opening present after present.
When I grab Rowan’s gifts, she gives me a nervous smile. “It’s not much, not like the others. But I hope you like it.”
“Whatever it is, I’m sure I’ll love it.” I tear into the box and pull out two knitted baby blankets. One in a soft shade of blue, the second in a pastel yellow. “Oh my God, Rowan! They’re beautiful. Where did you ge
