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

Then I added:

“But we know you chose it for her.”

That seemed enough.

We placed the footprint card on the shelf.

One photograph too.

Not the image of Lucas holding her.

I was not ready.

That photo belonged to a more complicated part of grief.

PART 24 — OUR FIRST THERAPY APPOINTMENT

A week later: