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.”

I took the notebook with me while the girls stayed with my mother.

I went to the library first.

June stood behind the desk, stamping due dates into children’s books. She was smaller than I remembered, with silver hair pinned behind one ear and a cardigan covered in embroidered birds.

“We can wait one night to understand how.”

When she saw the notebook continue reading …