“I already am,” he grinned. “By half an inch,” Rowan said, rolling his eyes. They were different; they always had been.
Jude was the spark; stubborn and fast with his words, always ready to challenge a rule. Rowan 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.
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. It was a stormy afternoon; the kind where the sky hangs low and heavy, and the wind slaps against the windows like it’s looking for a way in.
I came from a double shift at the diner, soaked through my coat, my socks squelching in my server’s shoes. It was that cold wetness that makes your bones ache. I kicked the door shut behind me, thinking only of dry clothes and hot tea.
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