Eventually, Tasha came to our door—pregnant, seeking a better life. We let her in. When baby Layla was born, Mom and I were both there; Marcus never showed.
Watching Layla wobble through the garden, Mom said, “The hardest part? Letting go of who we thought someone would be.” I nodded. “And the best part?” She smiled.
“Seeing who actually shows up.” The house smells like fresh cookies again, filled with laughter and peace.
