I visit Emily’s grave every week.
I sit beside her with the old teddy bear and tell her about her brother. About how he’s growing strong. About how we sing her favorite songs. About how her name still fills our home with love.
I tell her that I’m okay.
That I’m trying.
That her memory is safe.
And I tell her what I’ve come to understand:
Justice doesn’t erase loss.
It doesn’t mend the hole in my heart.
But it gives me peace.
It gives her legacy the dignity it deserves.
