Three identical five-year-old girls stood there, staring at her with solemn curiosity.
Before she could protest, one of them pointed at the framed photograph on her bedside table.
“Why are there two of you?”
Victoria’s breath stopped.
The photo showed her and her identical twin sister—Evelyn—arms linked, laughing at Hale Biotech’s fifth anniversary party.
“Were,” Victoria said automatically. “We were twins.”
The room shifted.
“Our mommy died too,” the tallest girl said calmly. “Three years ago.”
No hesitation. No whisper.
Just truth.
Moments later, Dr. Cole rushed in, apologizing as he ushered his daughters—Mila, Harper, and Quinn—into the hallway.
But something had already cracked open.
“When did she die?” Adrian asked quietly once they were alone.
“Eighteen months ago,” Victoria answered.
Car accident. Instant, they said. No suffering.
Early August.
And her symptoms had started… early August.
Her body remembered what her mind refused to face.
For six months, she had been fighting grief as if it were a virus.
It wasn’t.
It was unspoken love.
The girls kept coming back.
With drawings.
With questions.
With impossible honesty.
“What was Evelyn’s favorite smell?”
“What did she hum?”
“What was just hers?”