She is eight now. Bright, curious, a lover of sparkly shoes and school art projects. And every morning at 7 a.m., without fail, he parks his Harley two houses away. He doesn’t rev the engine so he won’t wake the neighbors. He smooths the wrinkles out of his worn leather jacket, clears his throat, and walks to her door.
When she spots him through the window, she runs straight into his arms.
The first time she said it, he froze. Then he swallowed hard and whispered it back — as naturally as if he’d been waiting to answer to that word his entire life.
Growing Into a Family
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