When I woke up, the first thing I saw was a little Winnie the Pooh on my nightstand, holding a jar of honey with that sweet smile on his face.
It was the first birthday gift Henry Smith ever gave me. After we got married, I placed it in our bedroom.
For a moment, I really thought I’d just had a weird dream. Otherwise, why would I be back home instead of in some cold hospital bed?
But the faint pain from the bandaged wound on my hand said otherwise—this wasn’t a dream.
I threw off the blanket and was about to get out of bed when I saw Henry walking in, carrying a bowl of porridge. And along with it... bad news.
Apparently, the reason I only got a few scratches from the crash was because my dad shielded me. He died instantly.
Less than six months after losing my child, I
