So I stayed. I became Uncle Noah, then Dad by accident. For 22 years, I packed lunches, braided hair badly, worked double shifts, sat through fevers, science fairs, broken hearts, and three separate phases where they all hated me at once.
I missed weddings. Vacations. The chance to have a family of my own. Not because they asked me to.
Because someone had to stay. By graduation day, I had gray in my beard, a bad knee, and a cheap camera shaking in my hand.
The girls walked across the college stage one after another. Ava. Claire.
June. Triplets, but never copies. Ava cried before they called her name.
Claire waved at me like she was still eight. June looked serious, like she was carrying something heavier than a diploma.
