Noah helped me find a clinic that worked with families in crisis. A social worker helped Claire apply for medical support. A kind pediatric specialist agreed to see Lily sooner than expected.
There were forms, phone calls, appointments, and long nights when Lily had a fever and Claire sat beside her bed whispering prayers she had probably forgotten for years.
Slowly, Lily improved.
Not all at once. Not like a movie.
But little by little, color came back to her cheeks. She started asking for pancakes. She began following Noah around the house, calling him “Mr. Fix-It” because he repaired the broken wheel on her toy stroller.
And one morning, she crawled into my lap and said, “Auntie Emma, your house feels warm.”
I had to turn my face away so she wouldn’t see me cry.
