Those boring documents should have all stayed in the trash can.
But among the papers, there was a candid photo that caught Elena's eye. It showed a little girl with blonde hair and blue eyes, no more than two or three years old. With her chubby face, bright eyes, and sweet, innocent smile, she was absolutely adorable.
But she was gone. At just three years old, she had succumbed to tuberculous meningitis.
That was Elena's child, Heather, her little angel who had graced the world for only a brief period. She had departed before she could even complete her third chapter.
Each time she brought up this incident or spoke that name, it felt like tearing at an unhealed wound, creating an everlasting pain and regret in her heart.
Elena buried her face deep in her pillow, her rapid, shallow br
