I never imagined that opening my door to a crying child would lead me to the family I’d lost hope of ever having. But life has a way of bringing broken people together in the most unexpected ways.
My name’s Lila. I’m 30 years old, and the past five years taught me that grief doesn’t leave.
It moves in and becomes your shadow. I lost my baby boy at six months pregnant. Three months later, my husband left.He said he couldn’t do it anymore.So there I was, living alone in a two-bedroom apartment I’d moved into two years ago, trying to figure out how to exist when my world had stopped.I worked long hours as a marketing analyst in Glendale. I went to therapy every Tuesday and to a grief support group on Thursdays. I did everything the books told me to do.
