I can hear them downstairs, laughing and debating and making up for lost time. There is a rhythm between my husband and his first two boys, a rhythm that is difficult to describe but easy to spot.
The eldest was four years old when I met him, eight when I married his dad. He was thirteen years old when the baby was born and nineteen when he moved out. Today, he is twenty-two. Words cannot do my heart justice. I wasn’t sure we’d be here tonight, together under one roof, celebrating in this way. I’m grateful.
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