The soft sound of my children laughing carried through the open kitchen window.
I stood at the sink, watching them splash in the pool their father built with his own hands.
Two years gone, and I still saw him in every smooth edge of that concrete.
« Mom! Watch me! » my oldest shouted, cannonballing into the water.
« I’m watching, sweetheart, » I called back, smiling.
The soft sound of my children laughing
Four kids, one summer, and a pool that meant more to me than they could understand.
Steve finished it just weeks before the cancer took him.
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