After burying her eight-year-old daughter, Lily, Ashley returned home, drowning in grief and exhaustion. But something unexpected awaited in her backyard, pulling her out of the numbness and forcing her to confront a mystery she never could have anticipated.

I wasn’t ready to say goodbye, even though I thought I was. They told me that the end would be peaceful, and perhaps it was for Lily. But for me, the pain was deeper than anything I could ever imagine. My little girl was gone, and I couldn’t comprehend a world without her.
A week had passed since we laid her to rest. The days leading up to her death felt like a blur of hospital beds, whispered prayers, and the cruel fading of her laughter. Today, we buried her, but it didn’t feel real. I moved through the funeral like a shadow of myself, with friends and family offering condolences, but their faces blurred by my tears.
“Ashley, I’m so sorry,” Aunt Ruth said, wrapping me in her arms. Her perfume was overwhelming, but I didn’t want to be hugged. All I wanted was Lily.
“She was such a light,” someone else added. I nodded but couldn’t hear them.
All I could think about was Lily’s laugh. How her giggles used to fill the room. I would never hear them again. The thought crushed me. I wanted to scream, but no sound came.
As people left, offering their sympathy, I kept staring at the empty chair where Lily should have been. My body felt heavy, as if I was dragging myself through thick mud. My mind kept wandering back to her final days.
“Let me know if you need anything,” a voice called as I walked out of the cemetery. I nodded, but what could anyone do?
The drive home was silent. I couldn’t bear to turn on the radio—music felt like a betrayal. I just wanted quiet, the kind where you can pretend the world had stopped with your grief.
When I finally pulled into the driveway, I wasn’t sure how I had gotten there. I sat in the car for a moment, staring at the house, trying to gather the strength to go inside. I didn’t want to face that emptiness—especially not without her.
But something made me freeze before I could even open the door.
In my backyard stood a tent.
A huge, colorful tent. The kind you’d expect to see at a circus, with red and yellow stripes and little flags fluttering at the top. It made no sense. My heart leaped into my throat.
“What… is that?” I whispered to myself.
I blinked, rubbed my eyes. Maybe I was hallucinating. Grief does strange things to the mind, right? I was exhausted, emotionally drained. But no, the tent was still there, bright and out of place. It was like a splash of color in a black-and-white world.
I got out of the car slowly, my legs trembling. Who would put a tent in my yard, and why today? My head was spinning. Was this some kind of cruel joke? Or had I lost my mind?
With each step closer, I felt the weight of uncertainty pressing down on me. The wind picked up, rustling the flags on top of the tent. My heart raced.
“This can’t be real,” I muttered, clenching my fists.
But it was real. As I got closer, I could see the details—the stitching on the fabric, the wooden stakes securing it in place. My mind raced with questions. There was no note, no sign of who had put it there or why.
I reached out, my hand trembling as I touched the flap. It was solid, real. My stomach twisted. I didn’t want to open it, but I had to know what was inside.
Taking a deep breath, I pulled the flap open slowly, my heart pounding in my chest.
Inside was something bundled up, small and still. My mind couldn’t make sense of it. Wrapped in a blanket, it didn’t move at first. A wave of memories overwhelmed me, pulling me back to Lily’s last days—her pale, fragile body lying in the hospital bed. The images made my knees weaken.
“No,” I whispered. “No, not again…”
I stepped forward, my whole body shaking. The sight before me felt like another cruel trick—why today? Why now?
Suddenly, the bundle moved.
I froze, gasping. My heart raced, thudding in my chest. I didn’t know what to do. Was this some kind of twisted joke, or was there more pain to come?
But then, a tiny head popped out from under the blanket—a small Labrador puppy, golden and soft, blinking up at me with wide eyes. A pink bow was tied around its neck. My breath caught in my throat. What was this?
“What… what are you doing here?” I whispered, my voice trembling.
The puppy wiggled out of the blanket and stumbled toward me, wagging its tail, full of life. It was a stark contrast to the grief that had consumed me. I knelt down, reaching out to touch its soft fur. Still in disbelief, I let my fingers brush against its warm, alive body.
Tears welled in my eyes. “Why is there a puppy here? Who did this?”
Then, I noticed an envelope tucked beneath the blanket. My heart skipped a beat. I picked it up, recognizing the handwriting immediately—Lily’s messy handwriting.
Tears blurred my vision as I opened the envelope. Inside was a simple note:
“Dear Mommy,
I know you’re sad because I had to go to heaven, but I wanted to leave you something to help you smile again. I asked Daddy to get you a puppy, so you’ll have someone to cuddle with when you’re missing me. Her name is Daisy, and she loves to play! Please take care of her for me. I’ll always be with you, watching from above. I love you so much.
Love, Lily.”
I collapsed to my knees, clutching the note to my chest. The tears came harder than they had at the funeral. I cried out Lily’s name, barely able to breathe.
Even in her final days, my sweet girl had thought of me. She knew how much I’d miss her, and she had arranged this last gift to help me through it. A puppy. A living, breathing reminder of her love.
I held Daisy close, the warmth of her little body grounding me in the moment. The tent, the puppy—it was all part of Lily’s final gift to me. A reminder that even though she was gone, her love would always remain.
Over the next few days, Daisy became my constant companion. She followed me everywhere, her tiny paws tapping on the floor, her little pink bow bouncing with energy. At first, I didn’t know how to care for her—how could I, when my heart was shattered?
But Daisy didn’t give me a choice. She nudged me when I was curled up on the couch, licking my hand until I smiled, even through my tears. Her joy reminded me of the brightness Lily used to bring.
Every morning, I’d sit with my coffee, Daisy by my feet, and think of Lily. I imagined her watching over me, her smile lighting up the sky. And every time Daisy curled up in my lap, I felt Lily’s love surround me.
Daisy wasn’t a replacement. Nothing could ever replace my Lily. But she was a part of her—a living, breathing reminder of the love Lily left behind. Slowly, the weight on my chest lightened, just a little.
Taking care of Daisy pulled me out of the fog I had been in. I had to get up, feed her, play with her. She needed me, just like Lily had known I would need her.
Lily had given me one final gift: a reason to keep going. And while the pain of losing her would never fully go away, I knew that now, I wouldn’t face it alone.