My daughters, Lily, Nora, and Gabriella, were born just 2 minutes apart. They were tiny, fragile, and perfect in every way to me. But because of complications during delivery, all three of them were born blind.**
The doctors spoke gently when they told us. They explained what tests would come next, what support we would need, and how much life would change. I remember holding Lily in my arms while Nora slept against my chest and Gabriella curled her little fingers around mine.
I looked at them and thought, We will figure this out.
But my wife, Clarissa, looked at them like life had betrayed her.
For one month, I tried to believe she was just scared. I told myself she needed time. She barely held the girls. She barely spoke to me. When they cried at night, she turned her face into the pillow while I stumbled through diapers, bottles, and lullabies with shaking hands.
Then one night, at two in the morning, I was rocking Gabriella near the window when I heard the closet door open.
I turned and saw Clarissa packing two suitcases.
“Where are you going?” I whispered.
