I glance down at the material under my hand – the pink princess dress I bought years ago still has the tags on it; it’s still unworn, still fresh. I grasp the fabric in a fist and lift it my chest, hugging it as more tears fall. “I’m sorry,” I whisper, the two words broken. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t save you.” How different our lives would be if she’d survived. She would have been so loved by everyone. She’d be spoiled and adored and wild like her mother.
