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There was Sarah standing in my kitchen wearing my apron, posting a caption beneath a photo: Some spaces just need new energy.
At twenty weeks, I learned I was having a girl.
The technician smiled and asked if I wanted pictures.
That night, alone in my loft, I spread the ultrasound photos across my drafting table. My daughter looked like moonlight and static, curled into herself, already refusing to be understood by anyone who had not earned the right.
I named her Lily.
And because I wanted her to understand that hidden things could still bloom.
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