I actually put together my little girl’s graduation outfit using the absolute last thing I had keeping the memory of my late wife, Laura, alive. When some rich, snooty mom decided to make fun of us right in front of the entire school gym, she had absolutely zero clue that the whole situation was about to blow up in her face in a way no one would ever forget.
My wife, Laura, passed away a couple of years back. A quick and vicious cancer stole her away. One moment, we were debating if the kitchen cupboards ought to be white or blue. Half a year later, I was standing next to a hospital mattress at 2 a.m., hearing the monitors beep while I gripped her fingers and hoped for extra time that just never arrived.
Following the memorial, every single spot contained something that brought back her giggle or the way she would hum while making dinner. But I simply couldn’t break down. Not entirely. Because I still had Sophie.
She was four when Laura passed away. By the time she hit six, she had turned into the sort of child who treated every person with pure kindness. Certain days, my little girl reminds me so deeply of her mother that my chest literally hurts.
Ever since her mom died, it has just been the two of us.
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