The baby remained part of every step.
People sometimes spoke about the loss as though it were a separate tragedy from what Daniel did.
It was not separate.
But my baby was also more than evidence in a case.
One evening, I asked Emily to sit with me while I wrote a letter.
I did not choose a name Daniel would have approved or rejected.
I wrote only, “You were loved before anyone tried to turn you into a demand.”
I folded the letter and placed it in a small wooden box with the two halves of the name list Daniel had torn.
Emily had found them under the refrigerator when she collected my identification.
The scraps were not proof we needed.
They were a reminder that my baby had been allowed possibilities, even if only on paper.
At the next medical follow-up, the doctor asked whether I was safe.
