Chapter 18 - The First Spring
By April, the biting winter chill gave way to the warm, golden sunlight of spring.
I had moved out of my parents' temporary guest room and into a bright, airy two-story townhouse in a quiet, tree-lined neighborhood in Westchester, purchased entirely in my own name.
The nursery was painted a soft, calming shade of lavender and cream. A white wooden crib sat beneath a window looking out over a blossoming cherry tree.
Lily was now nearly six months old. She had grown into a robust, endlessly giggly baby with bright eyes, rosy cheeks, and a fierce, healthy curiosity about the world. Every milestone she reached—her first roll, her first tooth, her first deep belly laugh—felt like a celebration of survival.
I looked at her as she played happily on her pink activity mat, kicking her legs and reaching for a dangling plush star.
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The nightmare at the “grandmother shower” felt like something from another lifetime.
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