Chapter 9

Our daughter was born in the spring.

We named her Lila. After my mother — Lily. Lila Grace. She had my eyes. Daniel's smile. And a head of dark hair that stuck up in every direction.

Mia was her godmother. She cried when we asked her. She held Lila like she was made of glass. She sang to her. She bought her tiny dresses — all from Lace & Light, of course.

Dad was the best grandfather. He came over every Sunday. He held Lila. He told her stories. He sang to her. He was — present. Fully. The father he hadn't been for me, he was for her. And I didn't resent it. I was grateful. Because Lila would never know what it felt like to be second-best.

Mrs. Ortega — now ninety-three — came to meet Lila. She held her. She cried. She said, "Your mother would be so proud, mija. So proud."

I cried too.

Lace & Light kept growing. Ten stores. Twenty. We launched a foundation — the Aaliyah David Foundation — to provide scholarships for girls who'd lost a parent, or who were surviving family conflict. Full rides. Mentorship. Internships.

We helped hundreds of girls. Girls like me. Girls like Mia. Girls who'd been told they weren't enough.

One girl, seventeen, wrote to me. Her stepmother had cut up her college acceptance letter. She'd found it in the trash. She'd applied again. She'd gotten in. She'd found our foundation. We gave her a full scholarship.

She came to my office. She cried. She said, "You saved me."

I hugged her. "No," I said. "You saved yourself. I just helped with the paperwork."

But I knew. I knew what it meant. To have someone see you. To have someone believe you. To have someone hand you a dress when yours has been cut to ribbons.

I'd been that girl. And now I got to be the hand that reached back.

Carla — I never heard from her. She'd moved out of state. She tried to contact Mia once. Mia didn't respond. She'd made her peace. She'd built her life. And Carla wasn't part of it.

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Mia had a baby too. A boy. Six months after Lila. They were cousins. Best friends. They crawled together. They laughed together. They would grow up — loved. Seen. Cherished.

The cycle was broken.