Multiple times a day, in moments just like this, my heart felt like it stretched to accommodate how much I loved these children. But I had always loved children, and not just the ones under my roof. For years I had been a first-grade assistant in our local elementary school. Being in a school environment comforted me, maybe because, even when my life was falling apart as a kid, school was consistent.

I relished that job, and the brightness and innocence of the children I taught, for almost twenty years. But after Walter died, I found that I wasn’t able to do it well anymore. I was having so much trouble sleeping that I would arrive tired and cranky, and the challenges that used to inspire me panicked me. Something simple—a child skinning a knee on the playground, a sick teacher needing me to take over the lessons for the day—would throw me into a spiral. I needed consistency; I needed rituals and routines. And, well, what people around town said about me was true: with three dead husbands, I could support myself.

It wasn’t until Julie and Grace moved in that I realized that a family provided me with the stability I so desperately needed. I loved getting the little girls dressed and ready for the day, knowing that, while Julie was at work, I would manage their schedules, that we would all sit around the table for dinner together. I went to bed very early each night because I had realized that around 10:30 p.m., my anxiety began to get the best of me. In the beginning, I felt guilty about not helping Julie with middle-of-the-night feedings, but I couldn’t handle the stressors and demands of the day without a good night’s sleep.

Of course, with that many kids in the house, things went wrong all the time. But in the context of “family,” they were things I could handle. Or maybe I was simply coming back to myself and was able to deal with small inconveniences better. It was a heartening thought. But did it mean I was ready for another relationship? I wasn’t sure.

“Right,” Grace said enthusiastically, responding to Brenna, then looked over at Merit and jumped up to fill his water glass.

“Mom,” Emma said, “can you get me some red pepper flakes?”

“Of course, honey,” Grace said.

Charlotte locked eyes with me and nearly imperceptibly shook her head. She’d asked me earlier why Grace acted like her children’s personal assistant.

“Grace,” I said, knowing I should stay out of it, “why don’t you let one of us help you. You’ve worked all day on this, and your food is getting cold.”

Grace bustled back to the table, hands full, and passed things out. She smiled tersely at me. “I’m just taking care of my children.”