Chapter 9
Grace was born on a beautiful spring morning.
April 15th.
Seven pounds, eight ounces.
Perfect.
Healthy.
Beautiful.
She had Mark's eyes.
And my nose.
And a head full of dark hair.
Lily was the first to hold her.
After Mark and me.
She was so gentle.
So careful.
So full of love.
"She's perfect," Lily whispered. "Just like I knew she would be."
Mark and I looked at each other.
Our family was complete.
Lily.
Grace.
Us.
Perfect.
But that night, something went wrong.
I started bleeding.
Heavily.
The doctors rushed me back into surgery.
Something about a ruptured placenta.
I don't remember much.
Just pain.
And fear.
And Mark holding my hand.
Telling me to fight.
Telling me he loved me.
Telling me the girls needed me.
I woke up in the recovery room.
Mark was sitting beside me.
Holding my hand.
His face was pale.
Tired.
Scared.
"The girls?" I whispered.
"They're fine," he said. "Grace is perfect. Lily is with my mother. Everyone is fine. But you… you lost a lot of blood. They had to do an emergency hysterectomy. You can't have any more children."
I closed my eyes.
Tears ran down my face.
I couldn't have more children.
But I had two beautiful girls.
A wonderful husband.
A perfect family.
And I was alive.
That was what mattered.
"It's okay," I said. "We have everything we need. Right here."
Mark kissed my hand.
"I love you," he said. "So much. You scared me. I thought I was going to lose you."
"I'm not going anywhere," I said. "I'm right here. And I'm not going anywhere ever again."
I recovered quickly.
Stronger than ever.
I had two daughters to raise.
A husband to love.
A life to live.
I wasn't going to let anything stop me.
Grace was a wonderful baby.
Happy.
Healthy.
Easy.
Lily was the best big sister.
She helped with everything.
Diapers.
Bottles.
Lullabies.
She loved her little sister more than anything.
And Grace loved her right back.
Her face would light up whenever Lily walked into the room.
It was beautiful to watch.
Mark and I were happier than ever.
Our love had been tested.
Again and again.
And it had only grown stronger.
Deeper.
More real.
We'd been through hell.
And we'd come out the other side.
Together.
Stronger.
Better.
More in love.
The foundation we'd started in Jessica's name was doing wonderful work.
We called it the Lily Grace Foundation.
To help children who'd been abandoned or neglected.
To help single parents who were struggling.
To help families stay together.
To prevent what had happened to Lily from happening to anyone else.
It helped thousands of people.
It made a difference.
And Lily was proud of it.
She helped whenever she could.
She drew pictures for the children.
She helped pack care packages.
She talked to the kids who came to our events.
She was going to grow up to be an amazing woman.
Kind.
Compassionate.
Strong.
Just like her father.
Just like her mother.
Just like her Aunt Brooke.
Wait.
Not Aunt Brooke anymore.
Mom.
Lily had started calling me Mom.
A few months after Grace was born.
She'd come to me one day.
Shy.
Nervous.
"Can I call you Mom?" she'd asked. "You're my mom in my heart. And Grace calls you Mom. And I want to too."
I'd cried.
And hugged her.
And told her of course she could.
Of course she could call me Mom.
I was her mom.
In every way that mattered.
I'd adopted her.
Legally.
Shortly after Grace was born.
Mark and I had talked about it.
And we'd both wanted it.
Lily was my daughter.
Forever.
And I wanted it to be legal.
Official.
Permanent.
The adoption had gone through without a problem.
Jessica's rights had been terminated.
Due to her criminal conviction.
Due to abandonment.
Due to everything she'd done.
Lily was my daughter now.
Legally.
Officially.
Forever.
And she was happy.
Truly happy.
Our family was perfect.
Whole.
Complete.
But there was one more thing I needed to do.
One more person I needed to see.
One more conversation I needed to have.
To close the final chapter.
Jessica.
I wanted to see her.
One last time.
To tell her that she'd lost.
That we'd won.
That her evil had only created more good.
May you like
That the family she'd tried to destroy was stronger than ever.
And that she'd been forgotten.
