I worked overtime so we could afford braces when her teeth came in crooked, tutoring when math stopped making sense, and dance lessons she quit after two weeks.
And I was fine with that.
More than fine.
Daniel used to say, “Lily’s so lucky to have you.”
I always answered the same way: “I’m lucky to have her.”
Then Daniel died. A heart attack on a quiet morning came out of nowhere and took everything with it.
Lily was 16. She was too young to lose her father and to be shielded from the brutal reality of it.
I held her when she screamed.
Sat with her through the silence that followed. Watched her stop eating and stayed beside her until she managed a bite, then another.
At night, I listened for her footsteps, terrified she might drown in grief.
