After My Sister Died in Childbirth, I Adopted Her Triplets – Then Their Father Came Back 8 Years Later

I remember the way her hand went slack in mine. I screamed her name as someone pulled me back, away from the bed, away from my sister.

She died before I could say goodbye.

The other two babies survived.

Three tiny girls were all that was left of my sister.

Chris was long gone.

He’d changed his number, and his family claimed they didn’t know where he’d gone, just that he’d left the city.

So, I adopted my nieces.

I named them Ashley, Kaylee, and Sarah, names Jen had written in a notebook with little hearts drawn beside them. I’d found the notebook while packing up her things.

My plans died with my sister, but somehow, life continued.

We traveled when we could: road trips, cheap motels, too much fast food.

On weekends, we volunteered at the animal shelter. The girls fed the puppies and argued over whose turn it was to hold the kittens.

For eight years, we were a family.

I thought we were safe, but I was wrong.

We lived in a quiet suburban neighborhood, surrounded by good people.

Mrs. Hargreeve next door watched the girls whenever I worked late.

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