I had to stop reading because I couldn’t see through my tears.
Daniel continued.
At the bottom, Sophie had written one last sentence.
“And Dad, thank you for not signing that paper.”
Daniel pressed the letter against his chest and cried harder than I had seen him cry since the day we learned I was pregnant.
Sometimes I still think about that hospital entrance all those years ago.
I think about how close we came to getting into the car.
How close I came to allowing fear to make the most important decision of my life.
And I think about the little girl waiting upstairs, completely unaware that her parents were deciding whether loving her would hurt too much.
Sophie’s life was shorter than I wanted.
I would have taken another year, another month, another morning with her if someone had offered it to me.
But when I remember those sixteen years, I no longer think first about the disease that took her from us.
