SEEN.
Those words had once been handwritten on printer paper and taped behind an inexpensive reception counter.
Now they were engraved in Italian marble.
Patrick stood beneath them, treating me like someone he wanted removed from the lobby.
Lily stirred against my shoulder.
“Mommy?”
Her voice was barely audible.
“I’m here, baby.”
She settled back down.
I kissed her hair.
Tomorrow marked three years since Daniel’s death.
My husband had been thirty-seven.
Lily had been three.
Cancer had taken sixteen months to claim his life, but grief took much longer
