“Sally—”
“Go home.”
She blinked.
“What?”
“I said go home.”
Her face changed.
“You’ve questioned whether Mark knew what he was doing. You’ve let other people question whether I manipulated him. And now you’re trying to rewrite what he wanted for our daughter.”
Tears filled her eyes.
“I lost my son.”
“I know.”
“You have no idea what that feels like.”
“No. I don’t.”
I stepped closer.
“But you don’t know what it feels like to bury my husband while carrying the daughter he will never meet.”
Violet fell silent.
“We are allowed to hurt differently,” I said. “But we are not allowed to destroy each other because of it.”
She left.
And for the first time, I stopped feeling guilty for setting a boundary.
Part 6: Cecelia Arrives
Two weeks later, Cecelia was born.
The delivery was quiet and uncomplicated, almost shockingly ordinary after months in which nothing had felt ordinary.
