Over time, Walter’s children became something unexpected in my life.
Not my children.
They had a mother.
I had my own children.
But Peter occasionally called.
Anne sent Christmas cards.
David remained distant.
That was okay.
Nobody was required to turn an unusual two-day marriage into a perfect blended family.
My daughter Ellen struggled longer.
One afternoon she asked:
“Mom, if Walter hadn’t left, would Dad ever have existed for you?”
I knew what she was really asking.
Was Harold second choice?
Was our family Plan B?
I took her hand.
“Your father was not the consolation prize for a life I didn’t get.”
She cried.
“Then what was Walter?”
“A road I didn’t take.”
I paused.
“Except I didn’t know someone had closed it for me.”
“Do you wish you’d taken it?”
I looked toward Walter’s drawings.
“No.”
She seemed surprised.
“How can you say that?”
“Because wishing for that life means wishing away you and your brother.”
