As I sat there on the floor, surrounded by fragments of her hidden life, I knew that her belongings weren’t just memories—they were a glimpse into the world she had navigated alone.

They were her legacy, and in them, I found the strength to carry on.

I decided, then and there, that I wouldn’t discard her things. Instead, I would cherish them, learn from them, and keep her memory alive in every way I could.

My daughter’s voice would be heard, and I would make sure that her story, her truth, would never be forgotten.