My husband died eight days before I gave birth to our daughter. Our son was five, and I was left to raise two children while carrying a loss that never stopped hurting. Eighteen years later, I told a friend how heartbreaking it was that my husband had never met our little girl. My son interrupted: “No, Mom, he actually did.” He said a man who looked exactly like his father had visited him and his sister at school every day for seven years, then vanished.
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