Not out of bitterness, but out of respect.
My husband loved that place. He taught Ethan to fish from that pier. We scattered his ashes along the eastern edge of the water one calm October morning. I will not allow that house to become the reward for a lie built on a grandson who never existed.
Months later, I put the blue booties and the silver rattle in a box and placed it in the hallway closet. I still couldn’t throw them away. Maybe someday I’ll have a real grandchild. Maybe not. Life doesn’t owe me that. But one lie isn’t going to poison that whole idea forever.
Perhaps that’s the part I’m most proud of.
They tried to turn my hope against me, and for a time they succeeded. But they won’t define what hope means after that.
