“Sometimes. I send her pictures.”
“Does she ever answer?”
“Not anymore.”
“Why don’t you tell her what you think?”
“Because you’ve already been hurt enough.”
“Dad, you need to move on. Find yourself a girlfriend. You deserve to be happy, too.”
“With seven kids? I’d need to put up a warning sign.”
“Dad!” Rachel laughed.
“I’m kidding, sweetheart. I’m happy right here with you.”
I did attempt dating occasionally, but most women lost interest after learning I had seven children.
I never married again.
Instead, I concentrated on earning a living, while the children contributed however they could.
“Dad, I’ll photograph your furniture,” Rachel offered.
“And I’ll build you a website,” Nathan added.
“Will that bring customers?”
“Only if your chairs stop looking haunted.”
Their efforts worked, and eventually I established my own restoration workshop.
I created handmade gifts for every birthday. When Sophie turned twelve, I restored an antique wooden desk she’d admired for months.
