My life has never been the same since the crash that took my husband, Mark, and our two children, Emily and Josh. The home that once echoed with laughter became unbearably silent. After a drunk driver ended their lives, I wasn’t really living anymore — I was simply existing.
Mark and I had met in college during a cooking class gone wrong. He set off the fire alarm trying to make scrambled eggs, and while everyone panicked, I laughed until I cried. From that moment on, we were inseparable. We built a small home, raised our children, and filled our days with the comforting chaos of family life — burnt toast, crayons, coffee, laughter.
The night of the accident, Mark went out for pizza. The kids begged to go along. I remember saying, “Drive safe.” He smiled, kissed my forehead, and replied, “Always.” It was the last thing he ever said to me.
When the police knocked on the door later that night, my world shattered.
For months, I barely spoke or left the house — until one day, I noticed a flyer for a Halloween costume drive. Something stirred in me. That night, I opened the attic and found the costumes I had made for Emily and Josh. I donated them, along with others I collected from neighbors.
At the shelter, I saw a little girl wearing Emily’s bumblebee costume. She hugged me and softly asked, “Maybe you could be my mom?”
Not long after, I began the adoption process.
Today, she’s eight — lively, joyful, and the reason my home is no longer silent. I still miss my family every day, but now, I live again.
