They had grown too large for cribs, and three small beds stood beneath a wall covered in their paintings.

Hazel’s pillow was always arranged neatly.

June slept surrounded by soft toys.

Rose had hidden a flashlight beneath hers so she could look at pictures after lights-out.

I sat on the floor and listened to their breathing.

Nobody had made me a promise that the years ahead would be easy.

I knew there would be questions I couldn’t answer and disagreements I couldn’t prevent.

But I no longer measured their childhood by what was missing.