I thought the hardest part of my wedding day would be walking down the aisle without thinking about my late wife. I was wrong. Five years earlier, I had stood in a cemetery holding my nine-year-old daughter’s hand, promising her we would be okay. Since then, it had been just the two of us — me and Juniper — learning how to breathe through the quiet. Junie was watchful. Not rude. Not dramatic. Just observant in a way that made adults uncomfortable. She noticed tone shifts. Forced smiles. The things people didn’t say. When Maribel came into our lives, she...
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