The morning sun was pouring in through the kitchen windows. I remember thinking how perfect everything felt. The smell of pancakes and coffee. Laughter. My little girl, Emma, skipping down the hallway, humming her made-up song about clouds. She was four years old. She was pure light. I was upstairs fixing my makeup, enjoying the rare quiet. Then I heard it. A crash. Not a normal clatter. A violent, metallic SLAM that shook the walls of the house. I knew immediately something was horribly, unspeakably wrong… Continue reading…
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