years, chaos had been our life.
Backpacks everywhere.
Half-finished cups on counters.
Shoes in impossible places.
Somebody always shouting for Mom or Dad from another room.
Daniel used to joke that silence meant trouble.
“If this house gets quiet, somebody’s drawing on a wall.”
He used to walk through the back door exhausted from work and immediately pick Ben up.
Scoop.
Throw.
Shriek.
Every day.
Now that same man stood in front of me saying he wanted peace.
Before I could answer, Elliot appeared in the doorway.
Our oldest.
Sixteen.
