my work schedule so I could be there.
She had no lines.
She stood near the back wearing cardboard leaves taped to a brown shirt.
I still cried.
Years later, Jennifer would tell anyone who listened that I applauded as if she’d just performed Shakespeare on Broadway.
Lizzie claimed she could still remember me shouting, “That’s my girl!”
I denied shouting.
Both twins insisted I absolutely did.
Those were the years that built us.
Not one dramatic moment.
Thousands of ordinary ones.
Breakfasts.
Homework.
Late-night fevers.
Bad haircuts.
School pictures.
Birthday candles.
Arguments about curfews.
College applications.
Love rarely looks spectacular while you’re living it.
Most of the time, it looks like showing up.
Again.
And again.
And again.
Kayla did not.
For illustrative purposes only
Part 3 — The Questions Children Eventually Stop Asking
I never lied to the girls about their mother.
I also never poisoned them against her.
