I will never do it for her.

A year after the wedding that didn’t happen, the triplets turned eight.

We had the party at a public park above the water — no hotel, no photographer, no imported flowers.

Juice boxes.

A homemade cake that leaned slightly to one side.

Balloons pulling in the ocean breeze, and a dozen small children running loose across the grass.

Grayson came early, with three books chosen for three specific children, and helped me carry the picnic tables.

The kids called him Dad sometimes now, and Grayson sometimes, and I never once forced it in either direction.