When I married their dad, he used to say he wanted a big family.
« A loud house, » he’d laugh. « A table that’s never empty. »
We had six kids in 10 years. Mark. Jason. Caleb. Grant. Sarah. Eliza.
Four boys, two girls, and enough noise to shake the walls.
Three dots appeared from Sarah, then vanished.
Then one day their dad decided the noise was too much. He met a woman online. Overseas. Within months, he packed a suitcase and left, saying he « needed to find himself. »
I cooked their favorites. I set the table for seven. My good plates. Cloth napkins I ironed because I wanted the night to feel like it mattered.
At four, I peeked through the blinds like a kid.
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