I pulled out my phone to declare her pictures from our recent hiking trip. It was just the three of us, Spencer, Olive, and I, hiking through moss-covered forests and sunlit trails.
As I swiped to the next photo, Connor leaned closer, his mouth still sticky with chocolate sauce.
“That’s Daddy!” he said.
Nancy laughed too. But it was too loud and forced.
“No, sweetie,” she said quickly.
“That’s not your Daddy.”
I gazed at it.
Connor frowned, his small face grasping in confusion.
“Mom, it is Daddy! He came last week and brought me a teddy bear.”
Nancy laughed again, but this time it hesitated.
I didn’t speak. My fingers moved slowly, almost automatically, scrolling back through the photo roll until I found a solo shot of my husband. He was attending at the summit of a trail, wind threading through his dark hair, a crooked smile curling across his face.
I remembered that moment. I had taken the photo while Olive was throwing pebbles at his boots.
I turned the phone toward Connor.
“Is this him, honey?” I asked softly.
“Is this your Daddy?”
“Brielle,”
“Yes! That’s my Daddy!”
CONTINUE READING ON THE NEXT PAGE 🥰💕
