“Can we sit with him?”

The little girl’s voice was devastatingly innocent. “He shouldn’t eat alone when he’s sad. You always say we feel better when we have company.”

I looked at the woman again—Ashley. I saw something I recognized intimately. It was the expression of someone who isn’t living, just surviving. Someone who gets up, fulfills obligations, but has lost the spark.

I should have said no. I should have buried myself back in the gray fog. You don’t approach strangers. You don’t let people in. Not when you know how badly it hurts when they leave.

But something pushed me. Maybe it was her exhaustion matching my own. Maybe it was just destiny, finally tired of waiting for me to wake up.

“Excuse me,” I heard myself say, the voice rusty. I looked up at Ashley. “My daughter’s hungry. Can we join you?”

That’s how it all began.

---

The October wind cut through Baltimore like a scalpel, but I barely felt it. My hands were buried deep in the pockets of my suit, my shoes clicking a hollow rhythm on the pavement. This was my ritual. The walk.

Every evening, after the last email, I’d leave the 30-story glass tomb of Steuart Technologies and just… walk. My driver, Michael, knew better than to follow. These walks were my only church, a time when I could pretend I was walking toward something that mattered.

But I wasn’t.

The 15,000-square-foot mausoleum in Roland Park was waiting. Silent. Spotless. The staff would be gone. The fridge would be full of food I wouldn’t eat. The king-sized bed would be perfectly made, disturbed only on one side.

Seven years.

Seven years since Maya’s laugh had filled those halls. Seven years since her terrible singing echoed from the shower. Seven years since I’d had a single reason to go home.

My stomach growled, pulling me from the fog. Had I eaten lunch? Probably not. Janet, my old assistant, used to force sandwiches on me, but she’d retired. I hadn’t bothered to replace her. What was the point? I could manage my own calendar. It wasn’t like I had a life to organize.

I found myself in front of “Betty’s Diner.” A flickering neon sign promised the “Best Burgers in Baltimore.” It was the kind of place Maya would have dragged me into, laughing at how out-of-place my suit was.

That thought should have sent me running. Usually, any memory of Maya was a “too painful to examine” file, locked away. But tonight… I was just so tired. The wind was cold. The diner looked warm.

I pushed the door open. A bell chimed. The smell of onions and coffee wrapped around me.

The place was half-full. Working-class folks, teenagers sharing fries. The red vinyl booths were patched with duct tape. A woman in her 60s, “Betty” on her name tag, smiled. “Sit anywhere you’d like, honey.”

I chose the back booth, away from everyone. I felt my Rolex, my suit, my whole life screaming that I didn’t belong. But no one cared.

“First time here?” Betty asked.

“Yes,” I managed. My voice was rough.

“Bacon cheeseburger. Can’t beat it.”

“Fine. Thank you.”

She left me alone. My hand instinctively went to my left ring finger. I twisted the band. Maya’s face floated in front of me. She’d be mocking me right now, stealing my fries, talking to the entire diner.

God, I missed her.

People say time heals. They’re liars. Time doesn’t heal a thing. It just teaches you to function while you’re broken.

The food came. I ate without tasting. I was too busy remembering our last meal. An Italian place. Her blue dress. Her laugh. An ordinary night, beautiful only in retrospect. I didn’t know it was our last.

The bell chimed again. I didn’t look up. I was drowning. What if I’d driven her? What if I’d told her not to go?

“Mommy, look! Chicken nuggets!”

The small voice cut through the memory. I glanced up. A woman, tired but determined, and a little girl vibrating with energy. The woman—Ashley—had a weary, loving smile that made my chest tighten.

I looked away. Back to my burger. This was their world. Happiness. Chicken nuggets. I was just a ghost at the feast.

Then, a gasp. Very close.

I looked up. The little girl was standing right by my booth. Staring. Wide blue eyes, freckles, crooked pigtails.

“Madison!” The mother was flushed. “I’m so sorry, she just—” She tried to pull the girl away.

Madison didn’t budge. She tilted her head, studying me with that terrifying, X-ray perception of a child.

“Mommy,” she said, in a stage whisper that filled the room. “That man looks sad.”

I froze.

“Like when you cry after I go to bed.”

The words hit me like a physical blow. The mother—Ashley—looked mortified. “Madison Walden, that is not—We don’t say things like that.”

“But it’s true,” Madison insisted. “His eyes are sad. Like yours.”

Silence. Excruciating. I wanted to evaporate. My sadness was mine. It was private.

“I’m so sorry,” the woman said again, her voice genuinely pained.

“We should sit with him,” Madison announced. “So he won’t be lonely. You said people are nicer when they have friends.”

“Mommy, sweetie, we can’t just—”

“Why not? He’s all alone.”

Ashley looked at me, her face scarlet, apologizing with her eyes. I saw it then. This woman was fighting. Fighting to pay rent, to feed her child, to smile when she wanted to collapse. And she understood. She knew that kind of sad.

I should have said no. I should have raised the walls higher. Letting people in is dangerous.

But this little girl, with her mismatched ribbons, had seen me. In seven years, no one had dared to just say it.

“You can join me,” I heard myself say. “If you’d like.”

Madison’s face lit up like a Christmas tree. “See, Mommy! I knew it!”

Ashley hesitated, stunned. “Are you… are you sure? We don’t want to impose.”

“It’s fine,” I said. And I meant it. “Please.”

She slid into the booth, Madison scrambling up beside her.

“I’m Madison,” the girl announced. “I’m five. This is my mommy, Ashley. What’s your name?”

“Elliot,” I replied. “Elliot Steuart.”

“That’s a fancy name. Are you a prince?”

A small smile tugged at my lips. It felt wrong, like a muscle I hadn’t used in years. “No. Not a prince.”

“He looks like one,” she told her mother. “But also sad. Are princes allowed to be sad?”

“Madison!” Ashley warned.

“It’s all right,” I interrupted. “And yes. Everyone can be sad sometimes.”

“Why are you sad?”

“Madison!” Ashley looked like she wanted to crawl under the table.

“I lost someone,” I answered, before I could stop myself. “Someone very important to me. A long time ago.”

Madison considered this gravely. “Like my goldfish, Mr. Bubbles. I was very sad. But Mommy said he’s swimming in heaven now. Is your person in heaven?”

My throat tightened. “Yes. Yes, she is.”

“Then maybe she’s with Mr. Bubbles!” Madison said earnestly. “They can be friends. There’s probably lots of cake in heaven. Do you think there’s cake, Mr. Elliot?”

I looked at this five-year-old, trying so hard to fix a broken stranger. Something inside me cracked. “I think there probably is,” I managed.

“Her name was Maya,” I whispered. “And yes. She loved cake. Chocolate.”

“That’s my favorite, too!” Madison beamed. “See! They’re definitely friends!”

Ashley had tears in her eyes. She reached across the table, a brief, impulsive touch on my hand. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

It wasn’t pity. It was pure compassion. I had to look away. “Thank you.”

Betty arrived with menus, sensing the shift. Ashley glanced at the prices, and I saw her doing that mental math. The calculation of survival.

“We’ll have the kids’ chicken nuggets… and an extra plate. We’ll share.”

“No,” I said, too sharply. They both looked startled. “Please,” I softened my tone. “Order whatever you’d like. My treat. It’s the least I can do for the company.”

“Oh, we couldn’t,” Ashley started.

“Mommy,” Madison said seriously. “It’s rude to say no when someone’s being nice. You taught me that.”

Ashley’s pride was warring with her practicality. I knew that look. “Please,” I said gently. “It would make me happy.”

She finally nodded. “Okay. Thank you. That’s… very generous.”

Madison, of course, ordered the nuggets and a giant chocolate milkshake.

An hour passed. An entire hour where I wasn’t drowning in memories. I was present. I was listening to Madison’s stories about kindergarten and Ashley’s quiet, intelligent interjections.

Ashley told me she’d grown up in Baltimore. Had Madison young. Was on her own. She dreamed of being an interior designer, but… “it wasn’t practical.” Everything was for Madison.

Madison told me about her teacher’s cat and a drawing she made. “That’s me, that’s Mommy, and that’s my daddy I never met.” She looked right at me. “Do you think he knows about me?”

Ashley tensed. “Madison…”

“He knows,” I said gently. “And I’m sure he thinks about you. How could he not?”

Ashley mouthed “thank you” across the table.

Eventually, Betty came with the check. I paid, leaving a tip that made her eyebrows shoot up. We walked outside into the cool night.

They were about to leave. They’d disappear, and I’d go back to my empty house. The gray was rushing back in, cold and suffocating.

I couldn’t let it.

“Wait,” I said.

Ashley turned, questioning.

I felt like an idiot. “Would you… could we meet again? Tomorrow? There’s a park near here. Patterson Park. If you’re free.”

She looked stunned. “You… want to meet up again?”

“I know it’s odd,” I rushed. “This evening… it’s been the most enjoyable time I’ve had in seven years. I’d like to see you both again. Just as friends,” I added, realizing how it sounded.

Ashley looked at me, really looked at me. Then, a slow, tired smile spread across her face. “The park sounds nice. Madison loves the playground. How about 3:00?”

Relief washed over me, so strong it almost buckled my knees. “3:00 is perfect.”

We exchanged numbers. They walked away, Madison chattering, Ashley looking back once with a shy smile.

I stood there for a long time. I didn’t call Michael. I just started walking. The wind was still cold, but it didn’t feel like it was cutting me anymore.

For the first time in 2,555 days, I was actually looking forward to tomorrow.

---

I showed up at Patterson Park 15 minutes early, feeling like a teenager on a first date. It was absurd. I was a 33-year-old CEO. I don’t do early. I do precisely on time.

But there I was, pacing near the swings in jeans and a sweater that felt like a costume.

What if they didn’t come? What if she’d woken up and decided I was just some sad, rich weirdo?

Then I saw them. Ashley was pushing a stroller full of bags, and Madison was skipping ahead, pigtails bouncing.

“Mr. Elliot!” she yelled, waving like her arm might fly off. “We came!”

Ashley caught up, breathless. “Hi. Sorry we’re late, Madison couldn’t decide which stuffed animal to bring.”

“Mr. Unicorn wanted to meet you,” Madison announced, holding up a worn purple unicorn.

“Hello, Mr. Unicorn,” I said gravely.

“Can I go on the swings?”

“Stay where I can see you!” Ashley called after her. She turned to me, shading her eyes from the weak sun. “She has two speeds: sleep and tornado.”

“She’s wonderful,” I said. And I meant it.

We sat on a bench, a respectful distance between us. The daylight made everything feel more real, more intentional.

“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” Ashley said quietly. “I thought maybe you’d wake up and think, ‘What was I doing, agreeing to hang out with some random woman and her kid?'”

“I could say the same thing,” I replied. “You probably shouldn’t be meeting strange men from diners at parks.”

She laughed, a light, airy sound that did something strange to my chest. “I’m a good judge of character. And Madison is never wrong about people.”

We watched Madison play for a minute. The park was all gold and orange.

“Can I ask you something?” Ashley said, not looking at me. “Last night… how long has it been since someone acknowledged that you’re… grieving?”

The question floored me. I wanted to deflect, to give a corporate, polite non-answer. But I found myself telling the truth.

“Seven years. And… seven years, I guess. At first, there were casseroles and sympathy cards. But after a while, people just… stopped. They expected me to move on. I didn’t know how. So everyone just pretends I’m fine. It’s easier for them.”

“But you’re not fine,” she said. It wasn’t a question.

“No,” I admitted, the word tasting like rust. “I’m not.”

She was quiet for a long time. “Madison’s father left when I was six months pregnant. Just… gone. And everyone had opinions. ‘You’re too young,’ ‘You’re ruining your life.’ But I kept her. And some days… some days it’s so hard I don’t know how I’ll make it through. But she’s the best thing that ever happened to me.”

She finally turned to look at me, her blue eyes clear and steady. “What I’m trying to say is… I know about being ‘not fine.’ I know about putting on a brave face while you’re falling apart. I get it, Elliot. I see you.”

I see you.

Three simple words. They shattered me. When was the last time anyone had seen me? Not the CEO. Not the tragic widower. Just… me.

“Thank you,” I managed to say, my throat thick.

“Mommy! Mr. Elliot! Watch me!” Madison yelled from the top of the slide.

We talked for two hours. I told her things I hadn’t told anyone. About Maya’s art studio, still untouched, a painting half-finished on the easel. About how I sometimes still set two plates for dinner.

She told me about dropping out of design school. About her dreams of creating spaces that felt like “home,” because she’d never really had one. Her face lit up when she talked about it, a passion that was buried but not extinguished.

“Why don’t you go back?” I asked.

“Stability,” she said simply. “Madison needs stability. I can’t take risks.”

When the sun started to dip, Ashley announced it was time to go.

“Same time tomorrow?” I asked, too quickly. “If you’re free?”

Ashley smiled. “We’re free. But maybe somewhere different. Madison needs variety.”

“The aquarium?” I suggested.

“YES!” Madison shrieked, running over. “They have SHARKS!”

And just like that, it became our life.

Friday was the aquarium. Saturday was the zoo. Sunday was the Science Center, where Madison declared she would be a “scientist-zookeeper-marine-biologist.”

I started leaving the office at 5:00. My board noticed. “You seem lighter, Elliot,” my CFO said. My housekeeper, Mrs. Chen, actually cried when she saw me laugh. “Mr. Steuart,” she’d said. “It’s so good to see you alive again.”

That’s what it felt like. Waking up.

Three weeks after we met, we were in a coffee shop, hiding from a cold snap. Ashley’s phone rang.

I watched her face cycle through hope, confusion, and finally… devastation.

“I understand,” she said, her voice hollow. “Thank you for letting me know.”

She hung up and just stared at the table.

“Mommy?” Madison asked.

“It’s nothing, baby.” But her hands were shaking. She looked at me, her eyes wide with a terror I recognized. The terror of the floor falling out from under you.

“That was my old office,” she said. “The practice. It’s closing permanently. The doctor is retiring.”

“But that’s where you were going to get your job back,” Madison said.

Ashley had been telling her it was temporary.

The panic was rolling off her. No job. No prospects. Money running out.

“Ashley,” I said carefully. “I want to offer you something. And I need you to hear me out before your pride says no.”

Her jaw tightened.

“I need an assistant,” I said. “Janet retired six months ago and I never replaced her. I need someone… someone I trust. Someone who isn’t afraid to tell me when I’m working too hard. Someone who is organized and good with people.” I leaned forward. “I need you.”

“Elliot, I can’t accept charity…”

“It’s not charity!” I insisted. “It’s a job. You’re the most qualified person I know. And… and I’m a better person when you’re around. I need you in my life. This… this is just a way to make it make sense. Please.”

She had tears in her eyes. “Why? Why are you doing this?”

“Because,” I said, my voice soft. “Your daughter saw a sad man in a diner and decided he needed a friend. And you’ve given me back my life. Please let me give you some stability.”

“Mommy, say yes!” Madison piped up. “Then you can work with Mr. Elliot every day!”

Ashley laughed, a wet, broken sound. “Okay,” she whispered. “Yes. But I am earning this, Elliot. I’m going to be the best assistant you’ve ever had.”

“You already are,” I said.

---

She started that Monday, and she didn’t just organize my life; she transformed the entire executive floor. She was efficient, warm, and had an uncanny ability to handle difficult clients.

I started picking them up in the mornings. Her commute was two buses. Mine was a 20-minute drive with Michael. “I’m driving right past your neighborhood anyway,” I lied.

My days started with Madison’s chatter from the back seat and Ashley’s quiet presence beside me. We’d have coffee before the workday. We’d have lunch. I’d meet them at the bus stop in the lobby.

The office gossip was immediate, of course. The reclusive, grieving CEO and his beautiful new assistant.

I found I didn’t care.

Weekends, I’d bring them to my house. The mausoleum. And for the first time in seven years, it was filled with noise. Madison running down the marble halls, Ashley sketching in the library, claiming the light was perfect.

They were bringing my home back to life. They were bringing me back to life.

And that’s when the guilt hit me.

I was watching Ashley. The way she tucked her hair behind her ear. The sound of her laugh. The steel in her spine.

I was falling for her.

And I was still wearing my wedding ring.

It felt like a betrayal. How could I feel this way? How could I love Maya—my wife—and still feel my heart pulling toward Ashley?

I pulled back. Grew distant. Worked later.

Ashley, of course, noticed.

“Did I do something wrong?” she asked one night. We were at my house. Madison was asleep on the couch.

“No,” I said, too quickly.

“You’ve been… distant. If this is too much, Elliot, having us here… I get it.”

“It’s not too much,” I blurted out. “It’s… it’s perfect. That’s the problem. This. It feels like… a family.”

“I know,” she said quietly. “Madison asked her teacher if you were her ‘sort of’ daddy.”

I looked down at my hands. At the gold band. “I still wear my ring.”

“I know,” she said.

“I don’t know how to take it off,” I whispered. “It feels like… if I do, I’m saying she didn’t matter. That I’ve forgotten her.”

Ashley gently took my hand. “Oh, Elliot. Taking off a ring doesn’t erase what you had. It doesn’t mean you’ve forgotten. It just means you’re ready to make room for new things… alongside the old memories.”

“What if I’m not ready?”

“Then you’re not ready. But…” she squeezed my hand. “Your wife… Maya. From everything you’ve told me, she sounded full of life. Would she want you to live like this? Wasting your life honoring her, instead of living it?”

That night, after I drove them home, I stood in Maya’s studio. The painting was still on the easel. Her brushes were still in the jar.

“I don’t know what to do,” I said to the empty room. “I didn’t expect this. I didn’t expect her. I’m falling in love with her, Maya. And I don’t know if that’s okay.”

The silence was total. But Ashley’s words echoed. Would she want you to live like this?

No. Maya was all life, all color, all forward motion. She would have hated this gray existence. She would have… she would have loved Ashley’s strength. She would have adored Madison.

Slowly, my fingers trembling, I twisted the ring. I pulled it off.

My hand felt light. Wrong.

“I will always love you,” I whispered. “But I think… I think I’m starting to love them, too. And I have to try. I have to live.”

I put the ring in a small box on her desk. And for the first time in seven years, I went to bed and didn’t dream of the accident. I dreamed of crooked pigtails and a shy, beautiful smile.

---

The new year brought a new challenge. A massive acquisition in Europe. It meant 18-hour days. Constant stress. Calls at 3 AM.

I fell back into the old patterns. Work was my shield.

“You’re going to burn out,” Ashley told me, standing in my office doorway at 9 PM.

“I’m fine.” I didn’t look up from the laptop.

“No, you’re not. You look terrible, Elliot. When did you eat?”

“I had a protein bar.”

“That was 12 hours ago!” She came over and closed my laptop. “This isn’t healthy. The deal will be there tomorrow.”

“It’s almost done, Ash. Just a few more weeks.”

“Please,” she said, and her voice broke. “Please take care of yourself. For me. For Madison. We… we need you.”

I should have listened. God, I should have listened.

But I didn’t. I was invincible. I was a CEO. I could handle the stress.

I was wrong.

It happened on a Tuesday in May. I was on the final video call with the European team. We were negotiating the final points.

And then the pain hit.

It wasn’t the dull ache I’d been ignoring for weeks. This was a hot, white knife, twisting in my gut.

The room tilted.

“Mr. Steuart? Are you all right?” a voice asked from the speaker.

I tried to answer. I stood up, thinking I could walk it off.

I took one step. The pain blinded me. My legs buckled.

The last thing I saw was the carpet rushing up to meet me. My last thought was: Ashley’s going to be so mad at me.

I heard her scream my name before everything went dark.

I woke up to beeping. The smell of antiseptic.

Ashley was holding my hand, her face pale, tear-streaked.

“Hey,” I croaked.

“Hey yourself,” she whispered, her voice thick. “You… you idiot.”

“Perforated ulcer,” I mumbled. I remembered the doctor saying it.

“You almost died, Elliot. You worked yourself until you literally broke.”

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “You were right.”

“We’ll talk about that later.” She squeezed my hand. “They… they had to do emergency surgery.”

“Madison?”

“She’s with Emma’s mom. She’s scared. We’re both so scared.”

“Ash…” I had to say it. The fog of the anesthesia, the fear… it made everything clear. “When I was on the floor… all I could think was that I’d wasted so much time. Time I could have spent with you.”

“Elliot, stop, you need to rest…”

“No. Let me say it. I love you, Ashley. I’m in love with you. And I love Madison like she’s my own. You two… you saved me. You’re my life.”

“I love you, too,” she sobbed, pressing her forehead to our joined hands. “I love you so much. Which is why you are going to rest. And you are never doing this again.”

“No arguments,” I agreed.

A nurse brought Madison in later. Her face was pale, her eyes huge. She was holding a crumpled drawing.

“I made you this,” she said shyly.

I took it. It was three stick figures. “Mommy,” “Mr. Elliot,” and “Madison.” Underneath, in a child’s careful letters, it said: “GET BETTER SOON. WE LOVE YOU.”

I looked at that drawing, and the last of my defenses crumbled.

“I love you, too,” I said, my voice breaking. “Both of you. So much.”

When I was discharged, Ashley was immovable. “You’re not going to that empty house. You’re coming to our apartment.”

“Ashley, the couch…”

“I don’t care. You need someone to watch you. You need to be taken care of. That someone is me.”

So I spent two weeks recovering on a lumpy pull-out sofa in a tiny, 800-square-foot apartment.

It was the best two weeks of my life.

I was surrounded by chaos and noise and life. Ashley bossed me around, making me eat bland soup and take my meds. Madison appointed herself my “Entertainment Committee,” putting on puppet shows and reading me her favorite books.

I had never felt more loved.

“Your lease is up next month,” I said one afternoon.

“I’m renewing it,” she said, not looking up from her laptop (she was working from home to watch me).

“Don’t,” I said.

She froze.

“Move in with me. You and Madison. Into my house. It’s too big. It’s too empty. It needs you. It needs… life.”

“Elliot… that’s a huge step.”

“I know. But we’re already a family. Let’s just make it official. I want to wake up with you. I want to read Madison a bedtime story in a room that’s actually hers. I want all of it.”

“What if…” she hesitated. “What if people say I’m just with you for your money?”

“I don’t care what people say,” I said, taking her hand. “I only care what you say.”

That weekend, we took Madison to the house.

“Would I get my own room?” she asked, her eyes wide.

“Yes,” I said. “A big one. You could even… paint it purple.”

“And a puppy?”

“We’ll… discuss the puppy,” Ashley interjected.

“And would you be my real daddy?” Madison asked, looking right at me.

My breath caught. I looked at Ashley, who nodded, her eyes shining.

“I would be honored,” I said, my voice thick.

“Okay,” Madison declared. “We should move in. Families should live together.”

We painted her room a truly offensive shade of purple. Ashley, with her designer’s eye, made it beautiful. Fairy lights, a canopy bed.

The first night she slept there, she hugged me goodnight. “Thank you, Daddy.”

I had to walk out into the hall so she wouldn’t see my tears. Ashley followed me.

“You okay?” she whispered.

“I’m…” I couldn’t find the words. “She called me ‘Daddy.'”

“You are,” Ashley said, wrapping her arms around me. “You are, in every single way that matters.”

We settled into a rhythm. A beautiful, domestic, ordinary rhythm. Breakfast together. Commutes. Homework at the kitchen table. Family movie nights.

It was everything I thought I’d lost forever.

In late August, I told Ashley I was taking her out. I recruited Madison as my accomplice.

I booked the “Top of the World” observation deck. Private. Just for us.

“Elliot, what is this?” Ashley asked, looking out over the panoramic view of Baltimore.

“Ashley,” I said, taking her hands. “Almost a year ago, I was a ghost. I was walking through a life I didn’t want. And then you and Madison sat down at my table.”

I dropped to one knee.

Her hands flew to her mouth. “Elliot…”

“You saved me,” I said, my voice shaking. “You taught me that my heart could expand. That I could honor Maya and love you at the same time. You are the most brilliant, strongest, kindest person I have ever known. Ashley Walden, will you marry me? Will you let me spend the rest of my life making you and Madison as happy as you’ve made me?”

I opened the box.

“Yes,” she whispered, tears streaming down her face. “Yes. A million times, yes.”

I slid the ring on her finger as Madison cheered, “WE’RE GETTING MARRIED!”

We got married in October, in the garden of our home. It was small, just us and our closest friends.

Madison was the flower girl, and she took her job very seriously.

When I saw Ashley walking toward me, my world stopped.

“You saved my life,” I said in my vows. “You and Madison gave me a reason to feel again. I promise to love you, to support your dreams, and to be the partner, and the father, you both deserve. I promise to show up. Every day. For all of our days.”

Ashley’s voice was thick with tears. “You gave us a home, Elliot. You taught me it was okay to trust, to dream. I promise to be your partner, your friend, and your family. I promise to love you with everything I have.”

At the reception, Madison, in her princess dress, tapped a glass for a speech.

“My mommy and my daddy are the best,” she announced. “And now we’re a real family forever and ever. And… and… can we get the puppy now?”

I looked at my wife, laughing through her tears. I looked at my daughter, bouncing on her toes.

Seven years ago, my life had ended. And then, in a cheap diner, over a plate of chicken nuggets, it had started all over again.

(We got the puppy. We named him Bubbles.)