I moved closer.
“You remind me of her sometimes.”
She looked up.
I chose my next words carefully.
“But Maggie was Maggie.”
My voice trembled.
“And you are Lily.”
For the first time that evening, something in her expression relaxed.
I swallowed the lump in my throat.
“And if you want…”
I paused.
“…I would really like the chance to know you as my niece.”
Lily started crying.
So did I.
She gave a watery laugh.
“Even though this is incredibly weird?”
I laughed through my tears.
“Oh, it’s definitely weird.”
That finally made her smile.
“Okay.”
It wasn’t a miracle.
It wasn’t an instant repair.
But it was a beginning.
Part 7 — Learning to See Lily
The weeks afterward were difficult.
Paul moved into the guest room.
It wasn’t punishment.
I simply needed space.
For eight years, we had survived the worst loss of our lives by believing we were completely honest with each other.
