Not because everything was suddenly okay.
It wasn’t.
I still had 22 years of questions.
Michael and I had a lot to work through.
There would be anger. There would be grief. There would be conversations neither of us wanted to have.
But there was also a baby who had lost her mother before she could even know her.
And somehow, after 22 years of believing I’d lost my daughter, I had been given a second chance to love the family she left behind.
Lucy came home with us that morning.
We put her in the nursery we’d once prepared for a daughter who never came.
The room had been used for storage for years.
I opened the closet.
At the back was a tiny pink blanket.
The same blanket I’d kept after the doctors told me my baby was gone.
I had never been able to throw it away.
