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.”

backpacks.

Birthday candles multiplied.

And every milestone carried the same quiet shadow.

Cleo should have seen this.

Now her handwriting sat on my porch.

Cleo should have seen this.

“Dad?”

I turned.

Chloe stood halfway down the stairs in pajamas covered with moons.

“What is it?”

I tried to answer, but my mouth would not work.

Linzie appeared behind her. Ivy continue reading …