When Aaron’s letter arrived, they were only six months old.
I had not known he existed until that envelope appeared in my mailbox.
I remember opening it at the kitchen counter while one baby cried in the background and the other slept in a swing.
He wrote that he had just returned from overseas. He had been in love with Lila. He had intended to marry her. He had not known she was pregnant.
He asked to meet his daughters.
I wrote back.
A week later, I bundled Zara and Mila into their car seats and drove across town to a small rental house.
Aaron opened the door.
He looked exhausted, young, and stunned all at once.
When I placed Zara in his arms, something in his face broke open. He held her like she was made of glass. Then he held Mila. He breathed them in as if memorizing their scent.
