Richard’s absence haunted them. His name lingered like a shadow at the dinner table, in classrooms, even in their reflections.
When David turned ten, he finally asked the question Anna had dreaded.
“Why does Dad hate us?”
Anna knelt beside him, brushing away his tears. Her voice broke as she said, “Because he never understood love, David. That’s his failure, not yours.”
Those words became their shield.
Through the stares and the whispers, the quintuplets grew stronger. Naomi challenged unfairness wherever she saw it. Grace sang at school events, moving audiences to tears. Lydia excelled in competitions. Ruth painted with quiet passion. And David, carrying the weight of being “the man of the house,” worked part-time jobs to support the family.
Anna’s sacrifices were endless. She skipped meals to feed her children, walked miles when money for gas ran out, stitched old clothes into something wearable again.
On their eighteenth birthday, the quintuplets turned the celebration toward her.
“For everything you gave up,” David said, voice trembling, “today is for you, Mom.”
Tears streamed down Anna’s cheeks as five pairs of arms wrapped around her. For the first time in years, she was no longer the woman Richard abandoned. She was the mother who had endured and built a family no one could take away.
The Past Resurfaces
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