When I finally made it back to our old house, the place seemed eerily quiet. No one else was there. I dropped my backpack on the floor and leaned against the entrance, knees up, shoulders slumped. My hand rested on my head as I whispered a prayer to the Moon Goddess, asking for permission to enter—a request for a chance to make things right, for a chance at redemption.
I sat there for what felt like forever until I heard the voices of my three youngest sons approaching. They came around the corner, all of them smiling and laughing. Mario was buzzing with excitement—he’d just been signed, and he had a voice that reminded me of Marc Anthony, smooth and full of soul. It hit me then how much I’d taken these small moments for granted.
I thought back to when I’d dropped by the daycare to give
