The grief counselor had said it would get easier. Five years after Ava’s death, Eleanor was still waiting. Her photography career stalled, her marriage to Joseph collapsed—until a photo on an adoption website changed everything.
Charlotte. The same dimpled smile. The same curious tilt of the head.
Samantha, the adoption agent, cautioned against seeing Ava in every child, but Eleanor couldn’t unsee it. Their first meeting at the park was awkward—Charlotte hid behind Samantha—but by the third visit, the girl was leading Eleanor to the swings, chattering about her favorite books.
Joseph, though initially distant, found himself drawn back in. “She’s healing you,” he told Eleanor one evening after Charlotte fell asleep on the couch. But then came the call that threatened to unravel everything: Charlotte’s birth mother alleged Joseph was the father.
The paternity test wait was excruciating. Eleanor barely ate, terrified she’d lose another daughter. When the results cleared Joseph, she sobbed with relief. The resemblance was just life’s strange way of mending broken hearts.
On adoption day, Charlotte wore Ava’s old hair ribbon—something Eleanor had saved for this moment. As the judge finalized the paperwork, Joseph reached for Eleanor’s hand. “Maybe,” he said quietly, “we can heal together too.”
That night, as Charlotte slept in her new room, Eleanor realized something: grief never truly leaves. But sometimes, if we’re brave enough to love again, it makes space for new joy.
