“It’s Daniel’s triplets.”
“Where is he?!”
“Gone.”
She looked at the note, looked at me, then pressed her hand flat against her chest.
“What in the world?!”
“Honey, you can’t raise three babies alone!”
“I know!”
“You don’t even know how to warm a bottle.”
I sighed.
My neighbor knelt beside me. I was thinking she was probably right when the smallest baby reached up, blind and searching, and her fist closed around my index finger. It was tiny, warm, and strong in a way that didn’t make any sense for a six-month-old.
I didn’t move. I couldn’t.
I was thinking she was probably right.
“That’s June,” Mrs. Hunter said quietly. “Patricia made sure we’d know how to tell them apart. Said the smallest one would always be June.”
“June,” I repeated, saying the name as if I were testing whether my mouth still worked.
