The twins followed.
Daniel, the youngest boy, moved across the country for his job.
And little Emily—my baby from the photo—became a teacher in another state.
Suddenly the house that had once been so loud became very quiet.
Phone calls became shorter.
Visits became “maybe next month.”
But I told myself that was normal.
That was life.
When my 60th birthday came, I didn’t want a party.
I didn’t want neighbors or friends.
I only wanted one thing.
My six children.
My whole world in one room again.
I spent two days cooking their favorite meals.
Lasagna for Mark.
Roast chicken for Jason.
Apple pie with extra cinnamon for Sarah.
I set the table for seven people and lit the candles.
Then I waited.
One hour.
Two hours.
Four hours.
The house stayed painfully quiet.
I sat at the head of the table and cried into a napkin I had ironed that morning.
Then there was a knock at the door.
