After Timmy had been bathed and dressed in clean clothes, I guided him back to our bedroom so we could chat. I still had no idea what I was going to tell him. I mean, how do you tell a four-year-old that his mother is dead? That she gave her life to save us?

Timmy followed me sheepishly down the hallway, holding my hand. His jeans were a bit big, dragging along the ground as he walked behind me, creating a sliding noise against the floor as he padded along the ...