‘Sorry Mom, I Couldn’t Leave Them,’ My 16-Year-Old Son Said When He Brought Newborn Twins Home

I’d find him in his room at odd hours, bottles warming, talking softly to the twins about nothing and everything. He’d tell them stories about our family before Derek left.

He missed school on some days when the exhaustion was too much.

His grades started slipping. His friends stopped calling.

And Derek? He never answered another call.

Three weeks in, everything changed.

I came home from my evening shift at the diner to find Josh pacing the apartment, Lila screaming in his arms.

“Something’s wrong,” he said immediately.

“She won’t stop crying, and she feels hot.”

I touched her forehead, and my blood went cold. “Get the diaper bag. We’re going to the ER.

Now.”

The emergency room was a blur of lights and urgent voices. Lila’s fever had spiked to 103. They ran tests: blood work, chest X-rays, and an echocardiogram.

Josh refused to leave her side.

He stood by the incubator, one hand pressed against the glass, tears streaming down his face.

“Please be okay,” he kept whispering.

At two in the morning, a cardiologist came to find us.

“We’ve found something. Lila has a congenital heart defect… a ventricular septal defect with pulmonary hypertension. It’s serious, and she needs surgery as soon as possible.”

Josh’s legs gave out.

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