life stopped being about his choices a long time ago.
Last month, we celebrated the triplets’ thirteenth birthday.
Thirteen.
Teenagers.
Someone send help.
Mrs. Henderson came over wearing a ridiculous party hat Andy had bought her.
Nora and Daniel came with their children.
My employees surprised the triplets with a cake.
Our little house was overflowing.
Adam came too.
He stood near the kitchen doorway for a while, watching everyone.
At one point, I noticed him staring at an old photograph on the wall.
It was a picture from the triplets’ first birthday.
Three babies covered in frosting.
Me behind them, exhausted and laughing.
Mrs. Henderson beside us.
Nora holding balloons.
There was no Adam.
He looked at that photograph for a long time.
Then he looked around the room.
At thirteen years of relationships.
Inside jokes.
Traditions.
Memories.
People who knew which child hated tomatoes.
Who knew Amara needed
