“But I still want to.”
Mia sat beside Lauren at a small table, both hands wrapped around a mug of hot chocolate.
She had Ethan’s cautious eyes.
We talked about school.
Her drawings.
Small things.
Then she finally asked the question she had clearly been waiting to ask.
“Are Atlas and Owen really identical?”
“They are.”
“Does Dad ever mix them up?”
The word Dad hurt.
I let it hurt.
“More than he would ever admit.”
Her eyes widened.
“Really?”
“He once called Owen Atlas through an entire diaper change.”
She smiled.
Not exactly Ethan’s smile.
But close enough that I saw him in it.
Then she reached into her backpack.
“I made another picture.”
Lauren touched her arm.
“Mia, you don’t have to.”
“It’s okay,” I said.
Mia looked at me.
“Mom said maybe I should wait.”
“You can show me.”
She handed me the paper.
There were two babies wrapped in crooked blue blankets.
Above them, she had written:
MY BROTHERS.
I looked at Mia.
She had not created this lie.
She had been living inside it too.
And I wasn’t going to punish an eight-year-old for decisions adults had made around her.
“Would you like to meet them someday?” I asked.
Mia glanced at Lauren.
Then back at me.
“Yes.”
I nodded.
“Okay.”
That was all I was ready to promise.
When I came home, Ethan was waiting.
“You met her.”
“I did.”
Relief filled his face.
“Thank you.”
“I didn’t meet Mia for you.”
His expression changed.
“I know.”
“I’m not sure you do.”
I set my keys down.
“She’s eight. She deserves to exist without being treated like something shameful.”
He nodded.
“But Atlas and Owen will not meet her until I’m ready.”
“Okay.”
“And you’re going to stay somewhere else for a while.”
His face fell.
“Annika.”
