The choice didn’t come after fasting and prayer. She wasn’t a fasting-and-prayer sort of gal. God didn’t speak to her at night or burn a bush in front of her windowsill. Instead, He spoke to her in simple yet sufficient ways.

Like a fortune cookie.

After Christmas, Daryl had called and written a dozen times, explaining that he was sober again, now attending AA meetings, describing how he was getting his life back in order, proving that he was truly trying to change. But all of that didn’t matter because she was smart and she was stubborn.

Then one day she ordered the Mongolian beef, and the fortune cookie that came with it reminded her of Christmas.

The tiny strip of paper in her hand said the following:

“A small gift can bring joy to the whole family.”

Lynn knew that it was true too.

The gifts that Thomas had given back at Christmas—the gifts that he had chosen to regive to others—had done something wonderful.

They had brought back her daughter’s sweet smile.

They had forged a relationship between Thomas and the rest of the kids at school, not just the bullying basketball player who was jealous of the new kid.

They had helped her see herself in a different light when she glanced at pictures of her and the kids.

It had done all this but most importantly it had humbled and broken her husband.

It had been Daryl’s final wake-up call.

In the form of a present.

And now she had a chance to do the same thing. To take her gift and give it back. To give something else, something more.

We’re all given second chances. All of us.

The fortune cookie was right.

Before deciding, she had prayed about it and taken some time to know if she was making the right decision. There was stubbornness and then there was simple stupidity. Both were wrong in God’s eyes, especially when it came to the kids. She just wanted to do the right thing.

It was over dinner one night at the trailer that she told them. School had just gotten out and the summer stared down at them with its long, flashing eyes.

“Okay, so here’s the deal,” she said in a way that told them she didn’t want them interrupting. “I’ve thought a lot about things. About our life here. About your father.”

Lynn tightened her lips, wondering if she could go on. They both stared at her with an intensity that could only come from mentioning the word father.

“For some time now your father has been asking—begging—to see both of you. Saying that he’s a changed person. Saying he wants to start over again. And every time I’ve heard it or read it, I’ve simply ignored it.”

Lynn held a napkin in her hand. The plate in front of her still had fried chicken and mashed potatoes on it. She wasn’t very hungry.

“The one thing I know—that I can’t change—is that he’s still your father. He’ll always be your father. So I think that it’s okay to see him. At least once this summer. To see how things are. To see how everything goes.”