Mute
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In the days that followed, my attention stayed fixed on Lily—on her safety, her sense of calm, her understanding of what love is. She didn’t need the tangled, grown-up explanation of events; kids shouldn’t have to carry the weight of adult choices.
What she needed was reassurance—simple, steady truths to hold onto while everything else shifted. We talked softly about families and all the different ways they can be made. I explained that love doesn’t depend on DNA and that being a parent is about showing up again and again: tying laces, catching tears, slicing fruit into goofy faces, banishing monsters from under the bed, sitting beside her when dreams turn frightening.
One night, during our usual bedtime ritual, she curled into my side with her hair still damp from the bath. She