My 3-Year-Old Began Saying These 3 Devastating Words To Strangers. I Wasn't Prepared For What Happened Next.

My husband and almost 3-year-old daughter came through the door to my hospital room with shining eyes.

“We just met a woman in the elevator who is here to visit her new grandchild, and Ada told her about Benjamin. She wants to come talk to you,” he told me.

My heart sank.

I was two days out from the stillbirth of our son. Less than 48 hours earlier, I’d been hustled into the operating room, sliding past my doctor talking with the NICU team before he scrubbed in to stop me from losing any more blood after a placental abruption.

Grief-stricken and lost, the last thing I wanted to deal with was another stranger. The revolving door of nurses was exhausting enough, despite their gentle hands and kind smiles.

They’d put me at the end of a hall to recover, far away from the cries of living babies and celebrating families. There was a sign on the door warning those about to enter that there was grief in this room instead of new life.

Since being wheeled in, I’d waited for my husband to fly in from across the country after waking him in the middle of the night to say, “Come home.”

We’d named our son, held his tiny body and let someone take him from our arms. I’d refused photos with him — one of my biggest regrets — not wanting to document the most excruciating moment of my life. I stood for the first time after surgery, almost fainting from the pain, and I held my daughter and cried with relief that I was still alive. I vacillated between numbness and wailing, exhausted to my core. I wasn’t ready to go home, but I wanted to be left alone.

Twenty minutes later there was a knock at the door and an elegant woman in her early 60s stepped inside. Her hair was salon-curled, her brows penciled in and her lipstick impeccable. She smiled