Then he looked at me, like he was sizing up if I was safe. I knelt, too, and said, “That’s okay. I talk a lot for Joshua.”
My husband laughed, a real, happy sound. “She’s not kidding, bud.”
Matthew cracked a small smile. William pressed closer to his brother.
“He talks for the both of us.”
The day they moved in, the house felt nervous and too bright. Joshua knelt by the car and promised, “We’ve got matching pajamas for you.”
That night, the boys turned the bathroom into a swamp, and for the first time in years, laughter filled every room.
For three weeks, we lived on borrowed magic, bedtime stories, pancake dinners, LEGO towers, and two little boys slowly learning to reach for us.
One night, about a week after the twins arrived, I found myself sitting on the edge of their beds in the dark, listening to the slow, even breaths of two boys who still called me “Miss Hanna” instead of Mom.
The house felt nervous and too bright.
The day had ended with William crying over a lost toy and Matthew refusing to eat his dinner.
