Because that was what I had always done.
I showed up.
A year after Chloe’s wedding, all six of my daughters came home for a family dinner.
The house was louder than ever.
Michael was trying to convince the triplets that he could grill better than I could. Stella was telling a story about one of her students. Charlotte had brought dessert, Violet was checking the oven, and Evelyn was taking photographs while Maya argued that she should be allowed to choose the music.
At one point, Chloe came into the kitchen and found me standing beside the counter, watching everyone.
“What are you thinking about?” she asked.
I smiled.
“Nothing important.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“You’re a terrible liar.”
I laughed.
“All right. I was thinking about your wedding.”
Her expression softened.
“Me too.”
“Do you regret opening the box?”
She considered the question.
“No.”
“Even knowing how painful it was?”
