Sarah reached over and laid her palm flat on my sleeve.

“You did a good thing here, Daniel.

Raised them all on your own.”

“We did it,” I said.

“All of us, together.”

She gave my arm one squeeze and went back to the register to pay for her wire.

By seven that evening, the living room smelled of roast chicken and warm brown sugar.

The kids had strung paper decorations across the ceiling, taping yellow and green streamers from the old brass light fixture out to the wooden curtain rods.