Sofia had understood more than I realised.
Several weeks after the funeral, I found a drawing inside the bag she had carried to the hospital.
It showed three figures holding hands.
One was labelled Sofia.
One was labelled Aunt Emma.
The third was Grace, the therapy dog from the children’s cardiac ward.
Vanessa was not in the picture.
Daniel was not there either.
On the back, Sofia had written:
Aunt Emma always comes.
I sat on the floor and cried until I could no longer breathe properly.
She had known who would answer.
She had simply continued hoping her mother might become someone different.
PART 3
Eight months after Sofia’s d3ath, I reopened the charity under a new name:
Sofia’s Heart.
The new organisation funded emergency cardiac care, temporary housing for parents, transport assistance, and a twenty-four-hour response team.
No child would ever again wait for help because an adult refused to answer the telephone.
