Anna took it harder than I did. I could brush off a look or a question, but Anna… she had to live in it.
At the grocery store, the cashier glanced at our boys and gave a thin smile. “Twins, huh? They sure don’t look alike.”
Anna just gripped the cart tighter.
At daycare drop-off, another mom leaned in. “Which one’s yours?”
Anna forced a laugh. “Both of them. Genetics does what it wants, I guess.”
“Which one’s yours?”
Sometimes I’d catch her late at night, sitting in the boys’ room, just watching them breathe.
I’d kneel beside her. “Anna, what’s going on in your head?”
“Do you think your family believes me? About the boys?”
“I don’t care what anyone thinks.”
***
Years passed like that. Josh and Raiden learned to walk, then run, then shout for ice cream at the worst possible moments. Our house was chaos, but the kind of chaos I’d begged for in every silent prayer.
Years passed like that.
Still, Anna’s smiles faded. She became jumpy at family gatherings, anxious around my mom’s questions, quieter when the church gossip reached our door.
Then, after the boys’ third birthday, I found Anna in their dark bedroom. I flicked on the hallway light.
“Anna? You okay?”
She flinched, then shook her head. “Henry, I can’t do this anymore. I can’t lie to you.”
My heart raced. “What are you talking about?”
“I can’t lie to you.”
She reached behind her, pulling out a folded piece of paper. “You need to read this. I tried to protect you. I tried to protect the boys.”
I took the paper, hands shaking. It was a printout of a family group chat. Anna’s family.
The words leapt out:
“If the church finds out, we’re done.
Don’t tell Henry! Let people think what they want. That’s less complicated than dragging old family business into the light. Anna, be quiet. It’s bad enough already.
