They were different in almost every way.
They argued about clothes, borrowed each other’s things, stole food from one another’s plates, and formed alliances that changed by the hour.
But they were close.
They had learned to celebrate one another’s victories and sit together through disappointments.
I watched them grow into women and wondered what Elena would think if she could see them.
Then I would remind myself that I had no control over what Elena thought.
I had six daughters to love.
That was enough.
By the time Chloe announced her engagement, I was fifty-one years old, my hair had begun to turn gray, and I had developed a habit of checking the locks twice before going to bed.
Her fiancé, Michael, was a good man. He treated Chloe with respect, listened when she spoke, and understood that marrying her meant joining a family rather than taking her away from one.
