The next morning, as sunlight streamed softly through my kitchen window, my son arrived at my door, Amy in tow. She clutched a small drawing in her tiny hands, her fingers gripping the edges with careful pride. It was a picture of our family — me, my son, his wife, and Amy herself — all smiling under a radiant, oversized
sun that dominated the top of the page. Each figure was drawn with exaggerated features, simple but full of life, their faces radiating joy. At the top, she’d written in bold, bright pink letters, “My Family,” the handwriting crooked but earnest. My son quietly said, his voice gentle yet tinged with hope, “She made this for you.”…CONTINUE READING IN BELOW
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