I became a mother at seventeen—and my parents took my baby from me. Now, twenty-one years later, the man living next door looks exactly like the child I lost.

“You need to move on.”

I asked about a funeral.

“There’s nothing left for you to do,” she replied.

Later that night, when she stepped out, a nurse quietly returned.

She slipped a piece of paper into my hand and whispered,
“If you want to write something… I’ll try to send it with him.”

I had nothing left to give.