ADVERTISEMENT
few days later, I stood with my daughters at the memorial marker again.
The wind moved softly through the trees, carrying the past with it.
“Your father didn’t make a mistake,” I told them. “He was trying to do the right thing.”
Mia leaned against me.
“Dad was good,” she whispered.
I looked at the cross, steady now in a way I hadn’t been before.
“Yes,” I continue reading …
ADVERTISEMENT