Megan asked me to hold Hazel while she lit the candles.

I stood beside her, supporting our daughter carefully, and watched Mason smack his palms against the table as Bryce attempted to grab the decorations.

“Make a wish,” Ruth said.

I looked at Megan.

She was smiling at the boys, not looking at me.

I wanted to wish for a version of our family that had never been broken.

But that would erase the choices we had each made to survive.

So I wished for something smaller and more honest: that every one of those children would grow up believing an adult’s promise could mean safety.