It Was Christmas When My Wife Died Giving Birth – Ten Years Later, a Stranger Came to My Door with a Devastating Demand

The door shut behind him with a soft click.

I stayed where I was, mug in hand, letting the silence stretch out. It was the same every morning, but some days it felt heavier than others.

I ran my thumb along the edge of the placemat on the table, the one Katie had sewn when she was still in that nesting phase. The corners were uneven, but she loved that about it.

“Don’t tell anyone I made this,” she said, rubbing her belly.

“Especially our son… unless he’s sentimental like me.”

For ten years, it had just been the two of us. Liam and I.

A team.

I never remarried; I never wanted to. My heart had already made its choice.

Katie’s stocking stayed folded in the back of the drawer. I couldn’t hang it, but I couldn’t part with it either.

I told myself it didn’t matter, that traditions were just gestures.

But sometimes, I still set out her old mug.

“Oh, Katie,” I said to myself. “We miss you most at this time of year. It’s Liam’s birthday, Christmas…

and your death day.”

Continue reading…