Every tiny heartbeat in that basket downstairs reminded me of her. It was like a whisper from Lily herself. It was not a goodbye, just a reminder that even in grief, even in the wreckage, love finds a way to stay.
I sat by the window that night with the yellow sweater in my lap and whispered, "I'll take care of them, baby. Just like you did."
Every tiny heartbeat
in that basket downstairs
reminded me of her.
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