My pregnant daughter passed away, and when her will was read during the funeral, the entire room fell into complete silence.

My daughter was gone. The baby boy she had been carrying was gone as well.

The police called it a tragic accident.

But that explanation never felt like enough. Those words could not explain why my Gracie had been taken from us.

Somewhere behind me someone quietly cried. Soft organ music drifted through the church, slow and mournful.

My husband Frank sat beside me. I could tell he was doing the same thing I was—holding himself together with pure willpower.

Then the church doors creaked open.