Three tiny babies.
Three infant carriers.
An empty parking space.
A frightened thirty-year-old woman wondering how she could possibly do this alone.
If I could go back to her, I wouldn’t tell her everything would be easy.
It wasn’t.
I wouldn’t tell her Adam would come crawling back and fix everything.
He didn’t.
Some things cannot be fixed.
I would tell her something better.
I would tell her:
You are going to get through tonight.
Then tomorrow.
Then the day after that.
One day, those three crying babies will become three hilarious, stubborn, brilliant children who fill your house with noise.
One day, you will have a business with your name on the door.
One day, you will pay every bill without checking your bank account first.
One day, you will stop wondering why someone left and start noticing everyone who stayed.
And twelve years from now, the man who
