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.”

where the girls had spent so many rainy afternoons.

“She knew?”

“No.” June shook her head. “Not like that. She hoped she’d be there herself. But she said mothers prepare for everything. Diapers, fevers, school forms. She said this was just another kind of preparing.”

“She asked me something strange.”

A sudden gust of cold settled right behind my collarbone.continue reading …