I knew those towels better than I knew my own scars. Eighteen years earlier, I had found my twin baby-girls wrapped in those towels inside a beach changing cubicle.
Now, they looked like they had broken something they couldn’t fix.
I had found my twin baby girls wrapped in those towels.
« Dad, » Emily said, taking my hand.
« We owe you the truth, » Grace said, wiping her cheek.
« What truth? »
They looked at each other. Then Grace pushed the white towel toward me.
« Open it. »
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