We laughed, loud and real. There was no heaviness, only the buzz of kids running wild, the music of their voices. I pulled out the new disposable camera, lilac this time, picked by both girls in the grocery aisle.
It had become our tradition. We’d fill drawers with blurry photos: sticky hands, messy grins, and snapshots of a life reclaimed.
“Smile, you two!” I called.
They pressed their cheeks together, arms flung around each other, both shouting, “Cheese!” I snapped the picture, heart brimming.
It had become our tradition.
Junie flopped into my lap. “Mom, are we going to get all the camera colors? We need green and blue and —”
Lizzy tugged my sleeve. “And yellow! That’s for summer.”
I ruffled their hair, feeling so present it almost hurt. “We’ll use every color. That’s a promise.”
My phone buzzed. It was a text from Michael about the delayed child support. I stared at it, thumb hovering, but then looked at the girls tangled at my side.
He’d made his choice a long time ago. We were done waiting for him.
“That’s a promise.”
These moments were ours now.
I wound the camera and grinned. “Alright, who wants to race to the swings?”
Sneakers pounded and laughter spilled out, mine mixed with theirs as we ran.
No one could give me back the years I lost.
But from here on out, every memory was mine to make. And no one would ever steal another day.
These moments were ours now.
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