The doctors had been certain. His twin had died.
“It’s him,” Stefan whispered. “The boy from my dreams.”
“Stefan, that’s nonsense,” I said, though my voice barely held steady. “We’re leaving.”
“No, Mom. I know him!”
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.
