Five years earlier, I had stood in a cemetery holding my nine-year-old daughter\u2019s hand, promising her we would be okay. Since then, it had been just the two of us \u2014 me and Juniper \u2014 learning how to breathe through the quiet.<\/p>\n
Junie was watchful. Not rude. Not dramatic. Just observant in a way that made adults uncomfortable. She noticed tone shifts. Forced smiles. The things people didn\u2019t say.<\/p>\n
When Maribel came into our lives, she made everything feel lighter. She laughed easily. She cooked for us. She kissed my cheek in the kitchen and called Junie \u201csweet pea\u201d like it was affectionate.<\/p>\n
People told me I looked happier.<\/p>\n
I wanted that to be true.<\/p>\n
Juniper didn\u2019t warm up the way everyone said she would. She didn\u2019t protest. She didn\u2019t argue. She just watched.<\/p>\n
\u201cShe\u2019s protective,\u201d Maribel would say with a smile. \u201cIt\u2019s kind of cute.\u201dJunie never laughed at that.<\/p>\n
The wedding day arrived bright and loud. White chairs lined our backyard. String lights hung between trees. Flowers filled every corner.<\/p>\n
Guests hugged me. \u201cShe would\u2019ve wanted this,\u201d they said about my late wife, and I nodded because it was easier than explaining grief doesn\u2019t disappear \u2014 it rearranges itself.<\/p>\n
Juniper wore a pale floral dress and a serious expression. She sat in the front row during photos, then drifted off when the noise grew too much.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
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