"To remember some happy things."
I swallowed.
For years, I had avoided opening that box because I knew how much the memories would hurt.
The last time I'd heard my first wife's voice in a recording, I cried for nearly an hour.
But my mother was right.
Our daughter was growing up.
And she'd spent too much of her young life hearing another woman tell her she didn't belong.
She deserved to know how deeply she'd been loved from the beginning.
We opened the box together.
Inside were photographs from the hospital, tiny baby shoes, a knitted blanket, and a small digital storage device containing family videos.
I connected it to my laptop.
The first recording showed my wife sitting on the sofa with our newborn daughter in her arms.
She looked tired.
Her hair was loosely tied back, and she wore a simple gray sweatshirt.
But her smile was beautiful.
I felt my throat tighten.
My daughter climbed into the chair beside me.
"Who's that?"
I smiled through tears.
"That's your mommy."
Her eyes widened.
"Really?"
I nodded.
"Really."
She leaned toward the screen.
Then she pointed toward the baby.
"Is that me?"
I smiled.
"Yes, sweetheart."
She laughed.
"I was tiny!"
My mother smiled.
"Very tiny."
We watched the recording.
My first wife looked toward the camera.
"Come here and hold your daughter."
Then the image shifted.
There I was, several years younger, wearing an old T-shirt and looking completely terrified as I prepared to take the baby into my arms.
My wife laughed.
"You're holding her like she's made of glass."
I smiled on the recording.
"She's smaller than any construction project I've ever handled."
My wife laughed again.
Then she said, "And more important."
The younger version of me looked down at our daughter.
For several seconds, I simply stared at her.
Then I whispered, "Hey, baby girl."
My daughter watched the screen.
Her expression changed.
Then she looked toward me.
"Daddy?"
I swallowed.
"Yes?"
"You knew me when I was little?"
I smiled through tears.
"From the very first day."
She stared.
Then she looked back at the recording.
On the screen, I gently kissed the baby's forehead.
My first wife laughed.
"You're going to spoil her."
I looked toward the camera.
"Absolutely."
My daughter giggled.
Then she said something that made my mother begin crying.
"Look, Daddy. You already loved me."
I covered my mouth.
I couldn't speak.