For years, I thought I had endured the worst day of my life and somehow assembled a loving home from everything that was left behind. Then a single night destroyed nearly everything I believed about my family.
The kitchen light buzzed overhead, stretching shadows across a counter covered with leftover pink frosting and discarded paper plates. Midnight had already passed, and the house had finally become quiet after my triplets’ 16th birthday celebration.
I moved a sponge around the edge of a glass and wished my late wife, Sarah, could have seen the young women our daughters had become.