I gave up 22 years of my life raising my triplet nieces — what they did at their college graduation made me drop to my knees.
The girls were six months old when my brother left them on my porch with three car seats, one diaper bag, and a note on a gas receipt.
“I’m sorry, Noah. I can’t do this.” Their mother had died eleven days earlier, and my brother lasted less than two weeks.
I was twenty-seven, unmarried, living above the hardware store where I worked, with $312 in my checking account and no idea how to warm a bottle.
“You can’t raise three babies alone,” my neighbor said. She was probably right, but the smallest one wrapped her fist around my finger before I could call anyone.
