Chapter 10
Six months later.
It was Lily’s first day of third grade.
She stood at the kitchen counter, putting stickers on her new backpack. Her grandma stood beside her, helping her tie her new sneakers. Her grandpa was packing her lunchbox with extra cookies.
My husband stood next to me, watching them, his arm around my waist.
“Who would have thought?” he said quietly.
“Who would have thought,” I agreed.
We walked her to school together. Her grandparents held her other hand all the way there.
When we hugged her goodbye, she turned back and waved.
“I love you all!” she called out.
We stood there until she disappeared through the school gates.
On the walk home, my mother-in-law slipped her arm through mine.
“I was so blind,” she said. “But you never gave up on us. Thank you.”
“I didn’t give up on us,” I said. “And neither did you.”
That evening, we all sat around the dining table. It was crowded, and loud, and perfect.
Lily’s drawing—the one she’d made that terrible night—hung in a frame right above the center.
Real Family, it said.
And for the first time, every single person sitting there agreed.
We weren’t perfect. We’d made mistakes. We’d hurt each other. But we’d learned. We’d grown. We’d chosen each other.
May you like
That was the greatest gift of all.
That was what real family was.
