I’m the last one to wish her good luck and the first one to congratulate her. I may not be jockey material, but being out there on the track with my wife—where my dad loved to spend his days and where I’m starting to as well—it’s special. Especially when I get a front-row seat to see the look of pure joy on Violet’s face as she crosses that finish line. Win or lose. She’s always smiling out there. Smiling right at me. Lighting me up. Because she’s my fucking sunshine.
