My 19-year-old daughter came home from her summer job carrying a newborn when I asked whose baby it was, she whispered, “Mom… she’s mine now”
The Saturday I drove to bring my nineteen-year-old daughter home from her summer job, I was in such a good mood that I caught myself singing along to songs I normally skipped.
There were three hours of highway ahead of me, a cup of coffee cooling in the holder, and a paper bag of cinnamon rolls on the passenger seat because Maren had loved them since she was six.
I had missed her more than I wanted to admit.