She simply looked at me.
“Dad,” she whispered, “are we going to be okay?”
I pulled all five girls close while holding Maya as best I could.
“Yes,” I told them.
I had no idea how I was going to keep that promise.
But I knew I would spend the rest of my life trying.
The first year nearly destroyed me.
I worked during the day and took evening maintenance shifts whenever I could find them. I learned to cook six different versions of dinner because one daughter hated onions, another refused to eat carrots, and the triplets considered anything green a personal attack.
I learned how to braid hair by watching videos on an old laptop.
I learned that school uniforms had to be washed the night before, that permission slips disappeared into mysterious dimensions, and that a five-year-old could develop a fever precisely when you had an important meeting.
