“Grandma… are you okay?” he asked.
I smiled through my tears.
“Yes,” I said gently. “I think… I think we’re going to be okay.”
For the first time in six months, I truly believed it.
Not because the pain was gone.
Not because I missed Emily any less.
But because she had thought of us.
Protected us.
Loved us… even beyond her last breath.
That night, after tucking them into bed, I sat alone again in the quiet house.
But this time, I wasn’t crying from fear.
I was crying from something else.
Gratitude.
Love.
And a strange, quiet peace.
I wound the music box and let its melody fill the room.
“Thank you, my girl,” I whispered into the silence.
And for the first time since the crash… the silence didn’t feel so empty anymore.
