So the six-year-old pushed the wheelbarrow across the grass, this time carrying dirt instead of newborns, moving only a few yards while her mother watched from the porch.
The key still hung on its piece of string, but no longer around the child’s neck.
It had been moved to a hook beside the front door where adults could reach it.
That was where it belonged.
The wheelbarrow belonged in the yard.
The babies belonged in safe arms.
And the little girl who had carried an adult-sized responsibility for three days was finally free to leave both hands empty whenever she wanted.
