"Pretty sure every age works that way."
"Don't get smart with me. I know where the baby pictures are."
***
The yard was loud in the best way. Mila argued with Ethan about music, Lily rearranged candles like cake design was a paid profession, and Amy guarded the frosting from little cousins with plastic forks.
Sophie ran past me with a juice box in each hand.
"A man only turns eighteen once."
"Walk, missy," I said.
"I'm speed-walking, Dad."
Caleb laughed again, and for a second, I took it all in. My kids were in one place, messy, crowded, ordinary, and ours.
***
Twelve years earlier, that word had almost disappeared from my life.
Melissa, my ex-wife, had left on a Thursday night. I still remembered her suitcase wheels clicking over the kitchen tile.
Caleb was six. Mila was five. Ethan and Lily, our twins, were three. Amy was barely walking. Sophie was nine months old, asleep in a duck onesie I'd snapped crooked because my hands were shaking.
Melissa, my ex-wife, had left on a Thursday night.
I'd found the texts by accident.
"Miss you already."
"Wish you were here with me... instead of Raymond."
"I can give you the life he never will, Mel. I promise."
When I asked who he was, she didn't cry or apologize. She just glanced toward the stairs like the children were another problem to solve.
"I wanted more, Ray," she told me.
"You have six children here."
"And I feel trapped every day."
"Wish you were here with me... instead of Raymond."
"So your answer is to leave them?"
"My answer is to leave you, Raymond."
I stepped in front of the door, not to stop her, but because my legs moved before my pride did.
