Emma grinned.
“Apparently Dad is a hoarder.”
A minute later, they marched back carrying three ugly plastic laundry baskets.
Grace dropped my old baseball cap into hers.
Sophie found one tiny sock and held it up triumphantly.
I started laughing.
Mom had believed those three girls would cost me my future.
Twenty years later, they were sitting on my living-room floor arguing over who used to climb into which basket.
Mom had believed those three girls would cost me my future.
Grace patted the carpet beside her.
“Come sit down, Dad.”
I looked once toward Mom’s letter.
Then walked past it.
And sat between my daughters.
Then walked past it.
