When Daniel came downstairs later that evening, moving slower than ever, he found me curled up next to the basket with the kittens. I had Lily's sweater folded in my lap.
He stared in silence for a few seconds, his eyes widening when he saw the cat and her babies.
"What… what is this?" he asked, his voice dry and unsure.
I looked up at him, and for the first time in three weeks, I didn't feel like crying from pain. I felt something else — something fragile and hopeful.
I had Lily's sweater
folded in my lap.
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