“They did matter.”
“That’s why I believed you could be their father,” she said.
Emily pointed behind me.
Two beach chairs sat in the sand.
The white towel was spread across one.
“They did matter.”
Emily set Sarah’s photo on the white towel. Grace laid Ivy’s name card beside it.
Then they stood on either side of me.
“Tell us about them,” Emily said.
So, I did.
I told them that Sarah sang off-key, hated folding laundry, and loved zucchini as much as I hated it.
“And Ivy?” Grace asked.
“Tell us about them.”
I breathed through the pain.
“I never got to hold her,” I said. “But Ivy was stubborn. She kicked every time Sarah tried to sleep. And I swear she kicked harder whenever I burned dinner.”
Emily laughed through her tears.
“She sounds like us.”
I looked at the towels.
“Ivy was stubborn.”
Then I looked at my daughters.
Then I looked at the ocean.
For the first time in 18 years, I said all four names out loud.
Sarah.
Ivy.
Emily.
Grace.
Nothing broke.
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No one disappeared.
No love became smaller.
Nothing broke.
***
For 18 years, I thought that beach was where my life had split in two.
That day, I finally understood.
My grief could stay.
But my love was coming with me.
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