After Emily’s funeral, the house felt unbearably still. Every corner carried her presence — the echo of her laughter, the faint trace of her perfume, the photographs we had taken together. My eyes lingered on our engagement picture sitting on the mantle, and as I picked it up, something unexpected slipped from the back of the frame.
It was an old photograph of Emily, but not as I had ever known her. She was younger, her arms cradling a newborn baby. My breath caught in my throat.
We had no children together — so who was this child? I turned the photo over. Scrawled in Emily’s familiar handwriting were the words: “Mama will always love you.” Beneath it, a phone number.
My han
What happened next changed everything…
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