After Eleanor died, I had to raise Rebecca alone.
When she said “Daddy, I’m pregnant.” I didn’t yell. I just asked her what she wanted to do.
The Taylors next door had been trying to have a baby for years.
Eight months later, they adopted Sarah.
Rebecca had post-partum lactation pain, so she bottled the milk and sent it over.
Then, she was babysitting her own baby.
When she graduated high school, she said she wanted her baby back.
No, said the Taylors.
“What do you want to do, Rebecca?
“Whatever it takes.
Grampa is coming, Sarah.
Grampa is coming.