People still look at us strangely. Some assume I’m Emily’s grandmother. Others even think I’m her great-grandmother.
I no longer correct anyone.
I simply smile and say:
“Yes, I became a mother at seventy-nine. But the greatest miracle wasn’t the birth of my baby. The greatest miracle was that, in the same year, I got my husband back—and saved a family that had nearly been destroyed by fear and inheritance.”
