Shaun lifted one end of the mattress.
“Then let’s get rid of it.”
Inside, I opened Aria’s dollhouse.
Its front door still hung crooked.
I reached for my screwdriver.
Aria stopped me.
“It doesn’t have to be fixed tonight, Dad.”
Shaun picked up the other screwdriver.
“And you don’t have to fix it alone.”
For forty years, I had waited for the children I believed I’d lost.
Aria and Shaun came back carrying anger, guilt, and four decades of stolen time.
I looked at both of them, then set the screwdriver down.
This time, we would rebuild together.
