I lost my wife the day our triplets were born—ten years later, we found a box on our porch labeled, “To my beautiful daughters. Love, Mom.”

and always added three tiny frosting flowers to our order.

Samuel, the carpenter from church who used to hand the girls carved wooden animals at the town fair.

I stared at the names.

None of them were strangers.

That made it worse.

Or maybe better.

I could not tell yet.

“Can we open our letters?” Chloe asked.

None of them were strangers.

I looked at Cleo’s continue reading …