first, I expected her to return.
Then I expected an apology.
Eventually, I expected nothing.
The girls asked questions as they grew older.
“Why did she leave?”
“Did she not want us?”
“Was there something wrong with us?”
Those were the questions that hurt most.
I never lied.
But I tried not to let my anger become their inheritance.
“Your mother made a choice,” I told them. “That choice was about her, not about you.”
Because whatever else happened, I wanted my daughters to understand one thing.
They had been abandoned once.
But they had also been chosen every day afterward.
By me.
And somewhere along the way, they stopped calling me Uncle Rick.
They started calling me Dad.
The first time June did it, I corrected her.
The second time, I didn’t.
Eventually, I stopped remembering that there had ever been another title.
