Noah required surgery.
Miles had feeding complications and stayed hospitalized longer than his brothers.
For months, my entire world was measured in ounces, oxygen numbers and whether a nurse smiled before speaking.
Adrian was nowhere.
By the time the boys were healthy enough that survival no longer felt like a daily negotiation, I had stopped imagining him walking through the hospital doors.
I built another life.
Eight years later, one of those babies was standing behind me eating cereal directly from the box when I received Adrian’s Christmas invitation.
“Who’s Major Adrian Vale?”
I closed the laptop too quickly.
Ethan noticed.
He always noticed.
At eight, Ethan was already the most serious of the four.
Same gray eyes Adrian had.
Same way of narrowing them slightly when suspicious.
“He’s your biological father.”
Ethan stopped chewing.
“The Army guy?”
“Yes.”
The boys knew Adrian’s name.
I had never told them he was dead.
