When I agreed to babysit my neighbor’s daughter, I expected laughter and crayons, not a question that would shatter my world. She looked at me with wide eyes and asked, “Why are you wearing my mommy’s necklace?” and in that moment, nothing in my life made sense anymore.

There’s no greater happiness in life than being a mother, at least that’s what I’d always believed.

And when I finally got pregnant, that belief became even stronger. My Ethan and I had agreed to start trying a year into our marriage.

We both waited for those two little lines on the test like kids waiting for Christmas.

When they finally appeared one quiet morning, I screamed so loud I woke Ethan by jumping on the bed, waving the test in front of his sleepy face.

Motherhood felt like my purpose. I spent hours imagining what our baby would look like, how it would feel to hold them for the first time, what kind of parents we’d be.

One morning, when I was seven months along, I stepped out into the garden with a cup of herbal tea.

Then I heard laughter and a woman’s voice coming from the other side of the fence. My neighbor, Hannah, was chasing her four-year-old daughter across the yard.