Noah required surgery.
Miles had feeding complications and stayed hospitalized longer than his brothers.
For months, my entire world was measured in ounces, oxygen numbers and whether a nurse smiled before speaking.
Adrian was nowhere.
By the time the boys were healthy enough that survival no longer felt like a daily negotiation, I had stopped imagining him walking through the hospital doors.
I built another life.
Eight years later, one of those babies was standing behind me eating cereal directly from the box when I received Adrian’s Christmas invitation.
“Who’s Major Adrian Vale?”
I closed the laptop too quickly.
“Does he think you made up four babies?”
“He doesn’t know about four.”
“But you told him.”
“I tried.”
Ethan crossed his arms.
That gesture was pure Adrian.
“Are you going?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you want to?”
That was the harder question.
That evening, after all four boys were asleep, I took an old file box from the top shelf of my closet.
