My Husband Died Before Our Daughter Was Born—Two Years Later, I Heard His Voice in Her Room (4 of 5)

She showed up not long after and sat carefully on the edge of the couch, her expression fragile.

“I took a clip from your wedding video,” she explained. “His vows—you always said they were your favourite. I wanted Lily to have something real. A part of him.”

My throat burned. My eyes filled.

“He practised those vows for weeks,” I murmured. “He said they had to be perfect…”

“He meant every word,” she replied softly.

We sat in silence, surrounded by unspoken things. Grief doesn’t end. It just settles deeper, reshaping itself.

Later that night, I watched Lily sleep. Her tiny chest rose and fell in rhythm with the stuffed bear pressed to her side.

I pressed it one more time. “I love you forever.”

Her face—so much of him in her eyes, her smile, the curve of her cheek—took my breath away.

“Sweetheart,” I whispered, brushing her hair back, “that’s your daddy. And he’ll always be with you.”