Today marks one month without you, my love. One month of not holding you in my arms. It still feels unreal. There are moments when I choose to believe I didn’t give birth to you at all, because the truth hurts more than my heart can carry.

This was your internment last Nov. 9, 2025. 🥲💗 The day we gathered to give you your final earthly goodbye. I stood there holding a microphone, trying so hard to speak even though my heart felt like it was breaking all over again. Behind me were flowers, so many flowers — all given in honor of you. Whites, pinks, reds… all surrounding your little resting place.

Your daddy and I will be experiencing big changes soon. A new environment, a new life, new people to be with. I know that you and God will always guide us no matter what happens, and because of that, I feel at peace.

My Dearest Raya, It’s hard to find the right words, but I want to start here — with you. This space, Letters to Raya, is for you, my love. It’s where I’ll keep writing to you, even if you’re no longer in my arms. From the moment I found out I was carrying you, my world changed. Every heartbeat, every ultrasound, every quiet prayer was filled with you. You made me stronger than I ever thought I could be. You made me believe in miracles, in faith, and in the kind of love that n

I created Letters to Raya to share my heart. Not because it’s easy, but because it’s the only way I know how to heal. I made this account weeks before I gave birth to my daughter, Raya. I imagined I would fill it with her milestones. Her first smile, her tiny hands, her first birthday. But God had other plans for us. Instead of milestones, I’ve decided to share our journey together — from the very beginning. The quiet prayers, the hopes, the moments of faith and fear, and the