By graduation day, I had gray in my beard and a camera shaking in my hands, watching my girls cross that stage one at a time.
Nadia. Camille. Zora. Triplets, but never copies of one another. Then the dean came back to the microphone.
“We have one more presentation before we close.” All three of my girls walked back onto that stage, together, and I had no idea what was coming.
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