Then our fourteenth son was born, Noah.
I remember holding him in my arms, looking at his thirteen brothers piled up in the hospital room and realizing something.
Daniel had left us believing that fourteen children were a burden.
But there, at the time, I realized that they were my strength.
Our small kitchen business continued to grow.
Someone posted a.S. photograph of one of Grace’s cakes online.
Orders doubled.
Then they tripled.
A local coffee shop asked if we could supply them with desserts twice a week.
At first I said no because I thought we couldn’t get that much.
My children thought otherwise.
“We’ve already gotten over worse,” Michael told me.
He was right.
We called the Fourteen Hearts Kitchen business.
At first, it was just a handwritten name on labels.
Five years later, it was painted on the facade of our first small bakery.
Ten years later, we had three locals.
Grace went to a culinary school and returned as a pastry chief.
Michael studied business and took care of the operations.
Anna was carrying the marketing.
The others also joined in different ways as they grew older.
Some eventually chose careers completely unfamiliar to the company, but they all remained connected to it.
And every year, on the anniversary of the opening of the bakery, we took a family photograph.
Fourteen children.
A mother.
Without Daniel.
I never contacted him.
I occasionally listened to some things.
The woman he had left me for finally abandoned him.
His work became unstable.
He moved from city to city.
Apparently, sometimes I asked old friends about us, but he never called.
The years passed.
