When I married Sarah, her oldest daughter was three, and the youngest was only eighteen months old. I always loved them as my own flesh and blood. After my beloved wife passed away, her flighty sister tried to take my girls away from me...
"Hi, Sarah..." I brushed a few stray birch seeds off the headstone and set down the flowers. "I brought your favorites—daffodils."
I sat on the small bench, pulled a cigarette from the pack, and immediately shoved it back in. My wife had been so happy when I finally quit. But after she died, I backslid.
"Sarah, I swear, I'm quitting again!" I promised guiltily, tucking the pack deep into my pocket.
She smiled at me from the photograph. When the person you love smiles like that, you simply can't lie to them.
"Starting today. Not another puff as long as I live."
When I first brought Sarah's photo to the engraver, he turned it over in his hands for a long time.
"Don't you have another one?" he asked.
"Of course I do. But I want this one. What's wrong with it?"
"She looks too happy for a headstone. Usually, people don't pick photos like this for a memorial."
"There are requirements and restrictions for passport photos, sure, but here... I want her to stay exactly as she was when she was alive."
"Suit yourself," the man sighed, giving in. "What about the epitaph?"
"Loved and Remembered."
"And 'Deeply Mourned'?" the man added, nodding sympathetically.
"No, we don't need 'mourned,'" I countered. "Just 'Loved and Remembered.'"
The engraver gave me a look of slight disdain—he probably figured I was a cheapskate trying to save money on the lettering. I didn't bother explaining that it wasn't about the cost. The pain I carried in my soul didn't need to be put on display, and at their age, Megan and Chloe didn't need to live in mourning. It was enough for them to simply love and remember their mom.
***
The girls still hadn't fully recovered from the shock of Sarah's death, even though a year had passed. They cried often, couldn't sleep without a nightlight, and wouldn't let me out of their sight for a second. They were constantly asking:
"Daddy, do you feel okay? Does anything hurt? You won't have to go to the hospital, will you?"
I assured them I was as healthy as a horse and would live to be a hundred, but they didn't believe me. Since their vibrant, cheerful mother had withered away from lymphoma in just four months, they figured something similar could happen to me. Children shouldn't be preoccupied with death, but my daughters had developed a painful obsession with it.
"Daddy, does everyone die?" seven-year-old Chloe asked one day.
I wanted to lie, but I couldn't. It was impossible.
"Everyone," I admitted.
"And if you die too, will Megan and me have to go to an orphanage?" My younger daughter's chin began to tremble.
She was seconds away from bursting into tears.
"Hey, what are you talking about? No one's going to an orphanage," I said, pulling Chloe close and kissing the top of her blonde head. "First of all, you have your grandparents. And second, I promised your mom I wouldn't die until I've seen you both get married, met my grandkids, and helped raise them. But by then, I'll be a very old man, and you'll be able to get along just fine without me."
"Really?" She wasn't smiling yet, but her lips stopped trembling, and she began to calm down.
"Really."
"Can we go to the zoo tomorrow?" she asked, pivoting back to normal kid stuff.
"I want to go to the pier for the rides!" Megan declared.
She had just walked into the living room with her notebook—likely stuck on another math problem.
"The zoo!" Chloe insisted.
"No! We're going on the Ferris wheel!"
"I don't want to!"
"That's just 'cause you're a scaredy-cat and afraid of heights!"
"Ladies, let's not fight," I intervened. "We have two ways to solve this. Either we flip a coin, or we hit the zoo first and then head to the pier for the rides."
"Both! Definitely both!" the girls shouted in unison, jumping around me like little goats.
My heart wrenched; they both looked so much like their mother, especially when they smiled.
***
I checked my watch and stood up from the bench.
"Sarah, I have to go. I need to pick the girls up from school in forty minutes. They're doing great—their teachers are always praising them. Chloe has her first gymnastics meet in a week, so we'll have another medalist in the family. And Megan got an A on her math test yesterday. Don't worry, we're doing okay..."
I waved goodbye to my wife's photo as if she were standing right there.
"Yes, we really are doing more or less okay now," I thought as I walked toward the cemetery exit. "But God, how much grief Julia gave me before things settled down."
Julia is Sarah's sister. I honestly don't understand how two such different daughters could grow up in the same house. One was kind, positive, and sincere, and the other... I don't even have polite words in my vocabulary to describe my sister-in-law. While Sarah was alive, I barely knew Julia—I only saw her a few times over the years when she came around to borrow money. It always baffled me how indifferent she was to her nieces—she never took them out, never even bought them a small gift for their birthdays or Christmas. Sarah, always the one to defend and justify everyone, would explain:
"When Julia has kids of her own, she'll learn how to love them, and then she'll know how to love others. Right now, she just doesn't know how it works."
I kept quiet so as not to upset my wife, but I privately thought that Julia was incapable of loving anyone but herself. I told myself, "Whatever, she's not my problem."
I never would have dreamed in a million years that three years later, I would become her problem. And quite a big one at that.
***
Julia didn't contribute a single cent toward the funeral, though she did manage to show up at the cemetery to say goodbye. When we held the memorial service a week later, she had "urgent business," but she showed up for the forty-day mark. She waited until everyone who had come to remember Sarah had left, then walked into the kitchen where I was washing dishes. I thought she was going to offer to help, but I was wrong.
"Mark, pack the girls' things. Just the essentials for now; Greg will come by for the rest later." (Greg was her husband, a man I had never actually met).
"Why pack their things?" I asked, confused.
"Megan and Chloe are coming to live with me now."
"Since when?"
"Because I'm their biological aunt, and you're nobody!"
"Listen, 'Auntie,' it's time for you to leave." I grabbed her by the shoulders and practically forced her out of the apartment.
Yes, I was rough. Maybe you shouldn't treat a woman that way. But at that moment, my head was spinning with rage—I could barely think straight. The nerve of her to say it: that I was "nobody" to my girls!
"You low-life!" Julia screamed as she called the elevator. "I should have brought Greg so he could handle you like a man! Don't worry, he'll knock some sense into your thick skull soon enough!"
"Give my best to Greg!" I barked and slammed the door.
For a while, I avoided walking through any deserted areas. One-on-one, I could probably handle Julia's husband, but what if he brought friends? I couldn't afford to end up in a hospital—now, more than ever, the girls needed me.
However, Julia decided to reach her goal through other means. Soon after, I received a court summons regarding a custody petition for the minors Megan and Chloe. Julia had prepared for war—she showed up to the hearing with a lawyer who laid out the legal claims with professional precision. He spoke long and eloquently, but the gist of his monologue was this: the children would undoubtedly be better off in the stable home of their biological aunt rather than with a single stepfather who had fallen into a deep alcoholic binge following the death of his wife.
The judge, a middle-aged woman, looked at me intently, sizing me up. I didn't look my best; I had lost weight, my face was drawn, and I had dark circles under my eyes. But I didn't look like a "drunk," and the judge could see that. Meanwhile, Julia's lawyer handed some documents to the court clerk.
"This is just a home inspection report, your income statement, medical clearances from a psychiatrist, and a character reference from your employer," the judge said, addressing Julia. "Where are your husband's records?"
"Well, I'm the one applying for custody, not my husband. Besides, Greg is... temporarily between jobs."
"How long has he been unemployed?"
"Three years. But he's looking!"
"Your monthly salary is..." the judge glanced at a paper, "...two thousand dollars. You believe this is sufficient to support two children?"
"Money isn't what matters to children; love and care are!" Julia replied with practiced passion.
Then she added, "Besides, as their guardian, I'll receive government assistance for my nieces. With that combined, the four of us can live quite comfortably."
The lawyer winced and tugged at her sleeve, signaling her to stop talking. But she was on a roll.
"It's actually a good thing my husband isn't working. There will always be someone home to look after the little ones. While this... respondent..." she shot me a hateful look, "...sits in an office from morning until night, leaving the children to fend for themselves!"
"That's not true!" I blurted out.
The judge hammered her gavel for order but gave me the floor.
"Please clarify what exactly is untrue."
"I'm a graphic designer. After my wife passed away, I made an arrangement with the agency to work remotely from home."
"And what is your income?"
"My base salary is sixty thousand a year, and I make another twenty-five thousand through freelance work."
"You can't give him the children!" Julia shrieked, jumping to her feet.
The gavel came down hard.
"Petitioner, if you conduct yourself this way again, I will have you removed from the courtroom," the judge said sharply. She turned back to me. "Continue."
"I married their mother when Chloe was only eighteen months old and Megan was three. I adopted them almost immediately."
"Legally?"
I nodded. "Yes, legally. But my wife didn't change her last name or the girls' names after we married. I didn't push it. My last name isn't the prettiest, and I didn't want them getting teased at school. I figured when they get their IDs, they can decide for themselves if they want to take mine."
"Why isn't the adoption decree in the file?"
I shrugged. "I don't know. You should just ask Megan and Chloe who they want to live with."
"I object, Your Honor," the lawyer spoke up. "Children can only testify once they reach the age of..."
"I am familiar with the statutes," the judge interrupted, "but I would still like to speak with the children."
"They're in the hallway right now with their godmother and a counselor," I offered.
"Thirty-minute recess."
***
I went out to the steps for a smoke. Julia and her lawyer were talking nearby, unaware I could hear them.
"Why didn't you tell me your nieces had been legally adopted by their stepfather?" the lawyer grumbled. "I would have never taken this case."
"But I didn't even know!"
"You can consider this case lost. And another thing—you mentioned you wanted to sue for your sister's estate? I'm warning you now, you have zero chance of success there either."
Immediately after the recess, the court's decision was read: the petition by Julia G. was denied.
***
I pulled up to the school just as my "dynamic duo" walked out the front doors. Seeing me, the girls let out joyful shouts and ran toward the car, jumping into my arms and hanging off my neck.
My sweet girls... I'm never letting anyone take you away.
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