I watched my children playing with their father in the garden years later, feeling a deep sense of gratitude for the love that had once seemed impossible.
The late afternoon sun bathed everything in golden light as Hope, now eight, chased her five-year-old brother Lucas around the flower beds. Our youngest, three-year-old Rose, toddled after them with giggles that filled the air. Dylan pretended to be a monster, roaring playfully as he caught them one by one in his strong arms.
“Got you!” he called out, spinning Hope around until she squealed with delight. “No escaping the tickle monster today!”
Lucas ran to me, breathless and laughing. “Mommy, save me! Daddy’s too fast!”
I scooped him up, kissing his cheek. “Your daddy is pretty fast, but Mommy has special powers. Come here, you littl
