Snow drifted slowly over New York City, sparkling beneath the golden Christmas lights. Store windows glowed with reindeer, snowmen, and perfectly decorated trees, while families walked bundled together and couples laughed hand in hand. It looked like a postcard—except for the quiet, hollow space in Michael Carter’s chest, a space that had been there for two years, ever since his wife died giving birth.
On Christmas Eve, Michael pulled his Range Rover into a temporary stop near a bus shelter just steps from the Rockefeller Center tree. He stepped out and helped his four-year-old daughter down from the car. “Stay close to me, princess,” he said softly as he adjusted her white wool hat. “We’ll see the tree, then go home for hot chocolate, okay?” “Okay, Daddy!” Kelly smiled, her golden curls escaping the hat as she squeezed his hand. Michael tried to match her excitement. He really did. But his smile never quite reached his eyes. Since Sarah’s death, everything in his life felt dimmer, as if the color had been drained from the world.