The day I buried Emily, I thought I had nothing left but memories. But that night, as I was looking at our engagement photo, something slipped out from behind it—a hidden picture of a young, fragile Emily holding a newborn. On the back was a message: “Mama will always love you,” followed by a phone number.

I was trembling when I called the number. A woman named Sarah answered, telling me she had adopted Emily’s daughter, Lily, 25 years ago. Emily, just 19 at the time, had made the difficult decision out of love and never shared the truth with me. A mix of anger and sorrow washed over me—years of longing for a child, and Emily had kept this from me all along.

Sarah arranged for me to meet Lily, and when I saw her, it felt like I was looking at Emily again—her eyes, her smile. We spent hours talking about Emily, sharing stories. Lily told me that Emily had sent her birthday cards every year, quietly loving her from a distance.

That night, I placed the hidden photo of Emily next to our engagement picture. “You did well, Em,” I whispered. “I’ll take care of her, I promise.”