Three years. That’s how long it had been since Emma’s laugh filled the house, since her hand rested in mine without thought, since the little ordinary things—the way she stirred her coffee, the sigh she let out when the weather turned gray—had been my entire world.
Three years of silence. Three years of walking around in a body that felt half-empty, haunted by memory and guilt, and wondering if the heart I still carried inside me could ever feel like mine again.
Missouri winters are flat and gray, stretching into a cold infinity. The kind of winters that feel like the world is holding its breath. My life had become one long winter road: endless, lonely, and…
