I laughed while crying harder.
“You three are supposed to be asleep.”
I laughed while crying harder.
They weren’t my daughters.
Not technically.
They were my sisters.
But life had stopped caring about technicalities a long time before that.
Two years earlier, I had come home carrying news that was supposed to change my life.
Chicago.
A real job.
Good salary.
Benefits.
Two years earlier, I had come home carrying news that was supposed to change my life.
My first apartment that wasn’t shared with three other college guys and a refrigerator that smelled permanently like onions.
I’d called that morning to tell Mom I was coming by, but I hadn’t told her why.
She had been having a terrible year.
Dad had died only weeks after Emma, Grace, and Sophie were born.
I knew Mom was struggling.
She had been having a terrible year.
I didn’t know she was leaving.
I heard her before I reached the bedroom.
Not crying.
Swearing.
Drawers slamming.
A suitcase zipper fighting for its life.
Down the hall, all three babies were screaming.
“Mom?”
She didn’t turn.
She shoved clothes into a suitcase.
“Mom… what are you doing?”
I didn’t know she was leaving.
“I can’t do this anymore, Aaron.”
I laughed nervously.
“Okay. Then don’t do whatever this is.”
She stopped packing long enough to look at me.
Her cheeks were dry, her glare sharp as flint.
That scared me more.
“I’ve already spent my life raising a child.”
“I can’t do this anymore, Aaron.”
I dragged a hand down my face.
“What?”
