“Mom, why don’t you eat the big piece of chicken?” Liam once asked when he was about eight.
“Because I want you to grow up taller than me,” I told him, smiling through a mouthful of rice and broccoli.
“I already am,” he grinned.

A plate of food on a table | Source: Midjourney
“By half an inch,” Noah said, rolling his eyes.
They were different; they always had been. Liam was the spark — stubborn and fast with his words, always ready to challenge a rule. Noah was my echo — thoughtful, measured, and a quiet force that held things together.
We had our rituals: Friday movie nights, pancakes on test days, and always a hug before leaving the house, even when they pretended it embarrassed them.

A stack of pancakes | Source: Midjourney
When they got into the dual-enrollment program, a state initiative where high school juniors can earn college credits, I sat in the parking lot after orientation and cried until I couldn’t see.
We’d done it. After all the hardship and all the late nights… after every skipped meal and extra shift.
We’d made it.
Until the Tuesday that shattered everything.

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