THE LETTERS
Caring for a newborn alone was exhausting, but Ethan found comfort in the routines. Feeding her, rocking her to sleep, and even the endless diaper changes gave him a sense of purpose. Still, the nights were the hardest.
When Lillian cried, he often found himself crying with her. He missed Grace's voice, her soothing words, her presence. The emptiness in the bed beside him felt like a chasm he could never fill.
One night, after a particularly long day, Ethan sat in the nursery, holding Lillian close. Tears streamed down his face as he whispered, "I don't know how to do this without her. She was supposed to be here. She was supposed to guide me."
Lillian stirred, her small hand resting on his chest. In that moment, Ethan felt a strange sense of peace, as if Grace was with him, urging him to keep going.
Two weeks after Grace's passing, Ethan found a small box tucked away in the closet. Inside were letters, each addressed to him and their unborn daughter. His hands shook as he opened the first one, labeled, "For Ethan, when you need me most."
The letter was written in Grace's familiar handwriting, shaky but full of love:
Ethan, my love,
If you're reading this, I'm not there with you anymore, and I'm so sorry. I wanted so badly to stay, to be with you and our daughter. But if you're reading this, I need you to know how much I love you. You've been my rock, my light, my reason to fight. I know you'll be an incredible father because your heart is the kindest, strongest thing I've ever known.
Don't be afraid, Ethan. You're not alone. I'll always be with you, in every laugh, every tear, every moment with her. Love her for both of us. Tell her about me, about us, about how much she was wanted and loved. You're going to be amazing, and I'll be watching over you, every step of the way.
Yours forever,
Grace
Ethan held the letter to his chest, sobbing uncontrollably. But along with the grief came a renewed sense of strength. Grace had trusted him with their daughter, with their love, and he wouldn't let her down.