People ask if I regret not having children. I tell them the truth: grief and gratitude can share a table. The path I thought I wanted closed. Another opened in a cold parking garage when a boy looked up and said “Please,” and I answered with the only word that mattered: “Come.”
Sometimes family is biology. Sometimes it’s a decision you keep making, one ordinary day after another. I used to think my story ended in papers graded at a kitchen table set for one. Turns out, the universe had other math in mind.
