We had not agreed on a name.
This was not an oversight or a failure to plan. We had discussed it across the months, in the scattered and provisional way that you discuss things when the reality they point toward still feels too large and too close to examine with full directness. Names had been raised across those conversations and considered seriously and then set aside, not because they were wrong exactly, but because none of them had arrived with the specific quality of certainty that a name, once given and permanently attached, requires. A name is not a decision you make and then refine. It is the first structure you build for a person, the first thing you hand them before they can ask for anything, and we had both understood without needing to say it to each other that this one needed to be right.
