“No,” I said. “You did that eighteen years ago.”

After she left, Rowan remained close to the porch steps.

Riley glanced toward him.

“Do you like chocolate cake?”

Rowan gave a small, unsteady laugh.

“I don’t know. I usually had vanilla.”

Rex wiped his eyes.

“That’s tragic. We’ll fix that first.”

I carried the cake outside and lit three small candles.

One for each of my sons.

Watson whispered, “Make a wish.”

I looked at Riley, Rex, and Rowan.

Nothing was repaired yet.

We weren’t suddenly whole.

But for the first time, all three of my sons were standing together in the same light.

“I already got mine back,” I said. “Now we learn how to keep it.”

Later that evening, Rowan and I sat together on the porch steps while the party behind us settled into quieter conversation.

“I’m not asking you to pretend I raised you,” I said. “And I’m not asking you to call me Mom before you’re ready.”