I Married a Widower With Two Daughters — Then One of Them Led Me to the Basement and Asked if I Wanted to See Where Her Mother Lives

of women’s rain boots by the wall. An old TV beside stacks of DVDs.

The smell was mildew. A pipe was leaking into a bucket. Water had stained part of the wall.

“And Daddy talks to her.”

Grace smiled. “This is where Mom lives.”

I looked at her. “What do you mean, sweetheart?”

She pointed around the room. “Daddy brings us here so we can be with her.”

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