September 29, 2026

Four months after losing my 11-year-old daughter, we moved away to start over — then my 5-year-old said, “Mom, I saw Ava in the window across the street.”

Our old house had become unbearable for both of us. Maren’s shoes were still beside the back door. Her handwriting was on the family calendar. I couldn’t walk past her bedroom without feeling as though someone had reached inside my chest.

Graham found a house in a quiet city about three hours away.

I barely looked at the photographs before agreeing.

At the time, I thought he was stronger than I was. He arranged the viewings, dealt with the realtor, chose the neighborhood, and handled most of the paperwork while I moved through each day as if I were underwater.

The new house was pale blue with a small front porch and a maple tree beside the driveway.

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