Chapter 18
Maggie turned five on a Saturday.
We held her party in our backyard.
Sunflowers everywhere.
Her request.
She knew they were Grandma Margaret’s favorite even though they had never met.
Maya brought too many balloons.
Thomas wore a paper crown.
Marcus burned the first tray of hot dogs and blamed the grill.
I watched my daughter run through the grass and thought of the hospital bed.
The missing words.
The fear that I might never feel like myself again.
Then Maggie ran to me.
“Mommy, come play.”
“I’m talking.”
She frowned.
“Talk later.”
So I did.
I chased her barefoot across the lawn until I was breathless.
Alive.
That night, after she fell asleep, Marcus and I sat under string lights.
He took my hand.
“Do you ever think about what would have happened if Maya hadn’t found the camera?”
“Yes.”
“Me too.”
I leaned against him.
“But she did. And I survived. And we built this.”
He kissed my hand.
May you like
“You built this.”
“No,” I said. “We did.”
