Before my husband died, he asked to donate his organs. But hours after his death, his doctor ran after me, stopped me, and said, “Jake trusted me with something secret three weeks ago… but he didn’t want you to see it while he was still alive.”

“Look at that grip.”

I laughed.

“Just like Mark.”

Then she looked at Cecelia again.

For a second, I saw the old instinct in her face.

The need to find her son everywhere.

Then she shook her head.

She touched Cecelia’s tiny hand.

“That’s hers.”

Cecelia squealed and threw the block into Violet’s lap.

Violet laughed.

So did I.

And for the first time since Mark died, neither of us needed Cecelia to prove he was still here.

We could miss him.

We could love him.

And she could become entirely herself.