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Four months after that first whispered, “I found a lump,” the house no longer feels like a battlefield. It’s a sanctuary. Megan moves through the rooms wrapped in the sweater she made during chemo, its stitches holding the memory of every sleepless night, every silent prayer, every moment she chose to keep creating instead of collapsing into fear. The four kittens trail behind her, tumbling through stray yarn and sunbeams, living proof that life can return to the places grief once occupied.
