My grandson knitted 100 Easter bunnies for sick kids in the hospital from his late mom’s sweaters — my new DIL threw them away, calling them “trash.” My grandson Liam is nine. Two years ago, he lost his mom — my son’s first wife. Cancer. It didn’t just take her. It took the light out of that child. He stopped laughing the same way. Stopped asking for things. But he held onto one thing. Her sweaters. Soft, knitted, still carrying the faint scent of her. Then my son remarried. And his new wife, Claire, made it clear those sweaters didn’t belong in “her home.” My son always defended her. “She’s adjusting.” “She’s not used to kids.” “Give her time.” So we stayed quiet. Until Easter came. One afternoon, Liam brought me a small, uneven bunny. “I made this for kids in the hospital,” he said. “So they don’t feel lonely.” My throat tightened. “Why a bunny?” I asked. He smiled — just a little. “Mom used to call me her bunny.” That was enough. From that day on, he sat for hours knitting. Tiny bunnies. Crooked ears, mismatched eyes. Every single one made from his mom’s sweaters. One hundred small pieces of love. Each with a note: “You are not alone.” “You are brave.” “Keep fighting.” For the first time in two years… Liam looked proud. Then Claire walked in.