The Secret Baby Name That Almost Tore Us Apart
My sister Eliza and I had always been inseparable. We told each other everything.
When she had her first kiss at 14, I knew before she even wrote it in her diary. When her high school boyfriend dumped her, she climbed into my bed at 2 AM, crying so hard she could barely breathe. I held her until the sun came up.
We shared every secret—every job interview, every fight with Mom, even the weird dreams we had (like the one where Eliza flew on a giant cat).
We weren’t just sisters. We were best friends.
So when Eliza told me she was pregnant, I assumed I’d be part of every decision. Nursery colors? Of course she’d ask me. Diapers vs. cloth? Obviously we’d debate it. Baby names? Well… that’s where everything went wrong.
“So, what names are you thinking for my niece?” I asked one day over coffee, practically bouncing in my seat. I had a whole list of suggestions ready.
Eliza just stirred her decaf and smiled vaguely. “We’re still deciding.”
I frowned. “Liz, you’re due in, like, a month! You have to have some favorites.”
“We’re still figuring it out,” she said, giving me her classic back off look.
And that was it. No excited discussions, no asking my opinion, nothing.
It felt like a door had slammed shut between us.
At first, I told myself, Maybe she wants to surprise everyone. Or Maybe Miles is being stubborn about names.
But then… I found out the truth.
I texted her name ideas—“What about Olivia? Or Sophia?”—but she always replied the same way: “Haven’t decided yet.”
But she was lying.
Because at her baby shower, I caught Miles’s mom smiling when I mentioned the name.
At brunch, Aunt Linda choked on her coffee when I brought it up.
Even my own mother dodged the question, suddenly finding the dishes very interesting when I asked.
Everyone knew the name… except me.
Finally, I cornered Mom. “Tell me the truth. What’s the baby’s name?”
She hesitated, then sighed. “Eliza didn’t want you to know. She thought you’d… laugh.”
“Laugh?” My voice cracked. “When have I ever laughed at her?”
Mom bit her lip. “It’s… Tooh.”
I froze. “Like… the word ‘too’?”
“Spelled T-O-O-H,” Mom said quickly. “Pronounced like ‘two.’ Eliza said it’s… meaningful.”
My stomach dropped.
Because I knew why she’d chosen it.
Two years ago, in the middle of the night, Eliza had called me sobbing. “Cam… I lost the baby.”
I had rushed over to find her curled up in the bathtub, still in her clothes, shaking with grief. She whispered, “I never even got to name her.”
And now… she was naming this baby “Tooh”—like two.
A living reminder of the baby she lost.
I stormed to Eliza’s house, my heart pounding. She was in the nursery, folding tiny socks.
“You’re seriously naming her Tooh?” My voice shook.
Eliza didn’t even look up. “Yes.”
“After the number of babies you’ve had?”
She finally met my eyes. “It’s a tribute, Cam. For the one we lost.”
Something inside me snapped.
“That’s not fair to her!” I shouted. “She’ll spend her whole life explaining her name! Kids will tease her. She’ll always feel like a replacement!”
Eliza’s face hardened. “It’s our choice. Not yours.”
I took a sharp breath. “Then I’ll do what I have to. I’ll protect her—from this name, from your grief, from everything.”
I turned and left before she could say another word.
The baby came early—a frantic call from Miles, a mad dash to the hospital. By the time I got there, she was already born.
Eliza looked exhausted but happy. And in the bassinet beside her… a tiny, perfect baby girl.
“Want to hold her?” Eliza asked softly.
I nodded, tears already burning my eyes.
As I cradled her, a nurse walked in with a clipboard. “What’s her name for the birth certificate?”
My chest tightened. I braced myself to hear Tooh—and promised myself I’d never let this baby feel like a shadow.
But then Eliza looked straight at me and said:
“Camille.”
I sobbed. “What? Why?”
Eliza’s eyes filled with tears. “Because you fought for her. Because she needs someone like you in her life.”
I held my niece tighter, my voice steady for the first time in weeks.
“Then I’ll be everything she needs. I swear it.”
And in that moment, I knew—no matter what, she would never walk alone.