Chloe entered the dining room last night, checking on the status of dinner…the candle light framing her face in a soft glow of yellow- orange. She has changed the part of her hair. The effect is stunning. Her cheek bones are more pronounced, her eyes nearly smoldering. I am silent as I gaze at the beautiful creature before me.

“What?!” she asks, eyes popping in question.

“Nothing,” I say, “you just look so beautiful. I like your hair that way. You look older.”

Tilting her chin downward just so, her lips curve slightly into a half smile. She tosses her hair over her shoulder as I’ve seen her do hundreds of times before and saunters, wisp-like and floating, out of the room.

I sigh as I place the last fork on the folded napkin. The vision of older Chloe has momentarily jarred me and I stand motionless, staring into space, searching for infant Chloe in my mind’s eye.