The morning of June 16, 2015, I woke up before the alarm. I just lay there, staring at the ceiling, heart pounding like I was about to take a final exam or walk down the aisle. In a way, it was both.
Down the hall, I heard giggles. They were already up.I’d laid out their outfits the night before—matching dresses for the girls, a little black suit for Dorian. He hated ties, but today he didn’t complain. Not once. He just grinned and said, “I want to look like family.”
That word—family. It used to feel fragile. Like something we weren’t allowed to say out loud.
