New Grandma is lying! Mommy didn’t die because she wanted to!” my six-year-old daughter screamed in front of the casket, as my entire family fell dead silent.

In the summer of Lily's tenth year, we decided to take a road trip across the Pacific Northwest—a journey Clara and I had always dreamed of taking together.

We rented a cabin overlooking the ocean in Oregon, where the dark blue waves crashed against majestic coastal cliffs. The air was fresh and salty, filled with the cries of seagulls and the rustle of coastal pines.

Every morning, Lily and I walked along the beach, collecting smooth sea stones and driftwood, while my father enjoyed the view from the cabin porch with a cup of tea.

One evening, as the sun began to dip below the horizon—painting the sky in brilliant shades of amber, violet, and crimson—Lily and I sat on a large piece of driftwood near the water's edge.

Lily pulled the green silk scarf from her jacket pocket—the scarf I had bought for Clara three years ago, which Lily now kept as a cherished keepsake.

"Daddy?" Lily asked softly, watching the ocean tide.

"Yes, sweetie?"

"Do you think Mommy can see us right now?"

I wrapped my arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. "I know she can, Lily. Every time we laugh, every time we do something kind, and every time we stand up for what's right—she's right there with us."

Lily nodded gently, untying the scarf and letting it catch the ocean breeze for a moment before folding it carefully back into her pocket.

"I used to be scared when I heard loud noises," Lily murmured, resting her head against my arm. "I used to think about that dark night at the old house. But now, when I close my eyes, I only remember Mommy reading me bedtime stories and singing to me."

"That's because love is stronger than fear, Lily," I said softly. "The bad things happened, but they don't define who we are. We chose happiness, and that's the greatest victory we could ever give her."