play.
Sarah’s soft voice filled the room.
It wasn’t a perfect lullaby.
She forgot some lyrics and hummed the rest.
She even laughed once when the baby kicked.
Within seconds, Ari stopped crying.
I kissed the top of her head.
“That’s your mommy,” I whispered.
Then I stood in the dark nursery and cried until the song ended.
Sarah never got to hold our daughter.
She died only hours after giving birth.
People often asked when life would feel normal again.
I never knew what to say.
Normal never returned.
