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She found purpose again — and, to my joy, love too. A kind man she met at the hospital saw the light in her that she thought had died.
One spring afternoon, she appeared at my door holding a small velvet box. Inside was a delicate gold locket.
Years later, I stood beside her as her maid of honor. When she handed me her newborn baby girl, I saw hope reborn.
“She’s named Olivia Claire,” Anna whispered. “After the sister I never had.”