It cost eighty dollars.
I would not have traded it for a diamond worth eighty thousand.
When Emily was born, Jake cried so hard that the nurse handed him tissues.
He held our daughter against his chest and whispered, “Nobody is ever going to make you wonder whether you belong.”
That became our promise.
Our child would never know the fear we had known.
For three years, we kept it.
Then Jake started coughing.
At first we blamed the paint fumes at the garage.
Then pneumonia.
Then a doctor ordered more tests.
Cancer.
Aggressive.
Rare.
Late.
The next eleven months turned our life into hospital hallways, medication bottles, insurance appeals, fundraising pages, and whispered conversations after Emily fell asleep.
Jake died on a Tuesday morning in February.
