When we were at last, truly settled in Boston, the girls surprised me with a framed photograph from our first weekend on the coast, the five of us squinting into the sea wind, laughing.

Chloe put her arm around my shoulders.

“So is the drama officially over now, Mom?”

I looked at my four daughters — four healthy, brilliant, resilient girls whom an entire family had spent their whole lives treating as four failed attempts at a son, and who had, in the end, weathered a divorce and a move and a whole new city and the total transformation of their lives with a strength that put every adult in this story to shame.

“Yes, sweetie,” I said, and pulled all four of them into a hug.

“The drama is over.