I hated when people framed it that way.

Clara’s death was a tragedy.

Maya losing her first mother was a loss she would carry differently at every age.

Our responsibility wasn’t to turn that loss into a beautiful story.

It was to make sure she never had to question whether she belonged after it.

Marcus took my hand.

I looked at our rings.

Eleven years into our marriage, he had called me from a maternity corridor and asked for something neither of us was prepared to give.