Carla had welcomed me into the family with a warmth that felt genuine from the very beginning. She treated me less like an in-law and more like a daughter she had gained later in life.
Our home soon settled into a quiet rhythm.
Three adults. Two small girls. And the comfortable routine of daily life.
Karl often traveled for work, leaving me and the girls at home with Carla. During those stretches, she and I would sit together in the evenings while the girls played nearby.
She told me stories about Karl as a boy. She talked about how stubborn he had been, how he refused to eat vegetables, and how he once tried to build a treehouse with nothing but a hammer and a kitchen chair.
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