“All four,” I said.
She smiled softly. “They’re being raised with love.”
I thought that was the end of it.
The Knock That Didn’t Belong
The next morning unfolded like every other. Spilled juice. Missing shoes. A braid that refused to cooperate. I was spreading peanut butter when the knock came.
Not casual. Purposeful.
The kids froze.
I opened the door and saw a man in a tailored coat standing on my porch. Behind him, a black Mercedes idled at the curb, shining against our cracked sidewalk.
“Lucas?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“My name is Andrew. You met my mother yesterday.”
He explained how the ring had nearly undone her. How routines were all she had left. How losing that ring had reopened a grief she worked hard to manage.
“She asked about you,” he said. “She wanted me to find you.”
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