I am burning with fury and grief over Elizabeth Warren. And I'm not alone.

My grandma might not get to see our first woman president. Ms. Warren might not, either. I’m 39 — will I? I feel certain of it, yet many women have died after a lifetime of such certainty.

A few nights before the Super Tuesday primaries that ultimately squashed Ms. Warren’s chances, I had a dream that I was in a crowd watching her onstage. She glowed like someone who has won in a way that has nothing to do with numbers. We spoke afterward. She was clearly at peace with whatever happened with the election.

Ms. Warren might not be bound for the presidency, but she has apparently lodged herself in an another powerful place: the female psyche. The countless little girls with whom she famously “pinkie swore” that women should run for president will remember.

If this supposed democracy is worth lasting, at least one of them won’t be denied.