Two years later.... *** I found myself leaning against the porch railing, watching Robbie Jr. tear across the backyard with the kind of boundless energy only a three-year-old could have. He was chasing nothing in particular—just running for the joy of it—his laughter carrying across the warm air. At my feet, Benny was in his own little world, crawling in determined zigzags across the porch, occasionally stopping to slap his hands on the wooden boards like they were drums. My second son, only five months old, and already showing the stubborn streak of his father. Inside, I heard the sliding door open, and Emma stepped out with Tabby in her arms. My daughter squealed the moment she spotted her big brother, legs kicking wildly until Emma set her down. She was barely a year old and had just started walking, but she wasted no time toddling after Jr., her little curls bouncing as she tried to keep up. "So far, so good," I murmured to myself. Robbie Jr. had taken to having two younger
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