“You came home,” I whispered. “That’s what matters.”
Months later, my kitchen was loud again.
There were sticky high chairs, mashed bananas, baby bottles, and two giggling girls smearing oatmeal in their hair.
Emily handed me a cup of coffee across the counter.
“Mom, can you grab Rose’s bib?”
I froze.
She did not even seem to notice what she had called me.
But I noticed.
I set the bib on the tray, kissed Lily’s head, then Rose’s, then Emily’s.
David’s letter sat framed above the mantel, watching over all of us.
His final gift was not the ring.
It was not the cabin.
It was not even the letter.
His final gift was the daughter I had loved for years — and finally got to keep.
