Chapter 5

But not everything was easy.

The attention brought out the worst in some people. A group of boys from Ethan's school made a video mocking him. They wore dresses, called him names, laughed at Emma. It was posted on a popular social media account. It got millions of views.

Ethan didn't say anything. But I saw him watching it. I saw his face. I saw the way he closed his computer and went to his room.

I was furious. I wanted to call the school. The police. I wanted to scream.

David — my husband, who was back home now, who was trying — he put his hand on my shoulder.

"Let me handle this," he said.

He was a lawyer. A good one. He spent three days working. He found the boys. He found their parents. He found the social media company. He filed complaints. He sent letters. He made phone calls.

The video came down. The boys were suspended. Their parents apologized — some sincerely, some because they had to. The social media company changed its policy on videos mocking grieving families.

David came home that night, exhausted but satisfied.

"Done," he said. "They won't do it again."

Ethan looked at his father. "You didn't have to do that."

"Yes, I did," David said. "I wasn't there for your graduation. I'm here now. That's what fathers do."

Ethan smiled. It was small, but it was real. "Thanks, Dad."

David's eyes got wet. He turned away before anyone could see.

That night, we all sat in the living room. Ethan, David, and me. We watched old home videos. Emma as a baby. Emma and Ethan at their fifth birthday — twins, dressed identically, both in red. Emma at ten, singing off-key in the school play. Emma at fourteen, before the diagnosis, laughing in that same red dress she'd ordered online.

We cried. We laughed. We talked about her. For the first time in two years, we talked about Emma without it feeling like a wound. It felt like — memory. Like love. Like she was in the room with us.

David took Ethan's hand. "I'm sorry," he said again. "For everything. For not being there. For being angry. For being ashamed."

Ethan squeezed his hand. "I know, Dad. It's okay. We're healing."

I looked at my boys. My son in his hoodie, my husband with tears in his eyes. And I thought about Emma — how she'd always been the glue of our family. How even in death, she was bringing us back together.

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That night, I slept through the night for the first time in two years.

And when I woke up, the sun was shining. And for the first time in a long time, I felt — hope.