Before I could stop him, he ran.
The other boy looked up as Stefan approached. They stood face-to-face, staring. Then the boy reached out his hand. Stefan took it.
They smiled at the same moment, the same curve in their mouths.
I forced myself to move toward them.
A woman stood nearby watching. Early forties, tired eyes, guarded posture.
“Excuse me, ma’am, this must be a misunderstanding,” I began carefully. “I’m sorry, but our kids look incredibly similar…”
She turned toward me.
And I recognized her.
The years had added faint lines around her eyes, but I knew that face.
The nurse.
The one who had steadied my hand while I signed those papers.
“Have we met?” I asked slowly.
“I don’t think so,” she replied, but her eyes shifted.
I mentioned the hospital where I had delivered my twins.
“I used to work there, yes,” she admitted.
“You were there when I delivered my twins.”
“I meet a lot of patients.”
I inhaled carefully. “My son had a twin. They told me he died.”
The boys were still holding hands, whispering as though they had known each other forever.
“What’s your son’s name?” I asked.
She swallowed. “Eli.”
I crouched and gently lifted the boy’s chin. The birthmark was real.
“How old is he?” I asked as I stood.
“Why do you want to know?” she replied defensively.
“You’re hiding something from me,” I said quietly.
“It’s not what you think.”
“Then tell me what it is.”
Her gaze flicked around the playground. “We shouldn’t talk about this here.”
“You don’t get to decide that. You owe me answers.”
“I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Then why won’t you look at me?”
“Lower your voice.”
“We’re not leaving until you explain why my son looks exactly like yours.”
She exhaled slowly. “Okay, look, my sister couldn’t have children. She tried for years, but nothing worked. It destroyed her marriage.”
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