Two Weeks After Our Baby Died, My 8-Year-Old Whispered, “Mom, She Isn’t Gone—I Saw What Daddy Did at the Hospital”

“Nothing.”

I stared.

“Lucas.”

“That was it.”

“No.”

“Brenda—”

I will correct the source-name confusion here by saying he called me by the pet name he usually used.

“Bee, please.”