I froze, staring at her as the room seemed to shrink around us. My heart pounded so loudly I was sure she could hear it. “What do you mean?” I asked, trying to sound casual, but my voice trembled.
She shrugged, brushing it off at first. “I don’t know… just nausea, headaches… it’s weird.” Then she looked at me more closely, her eyes narrowing. “Why are you asking?”
I hesitated, then blurted it out. “Because I’ve been feeling the same.”
Silence fell between us, heavy and suffocating. We both understood what neither of us wanted to say out loud. Twins, sharing everything since birth—but this?
Days passed in a blur of tension and unspoken questions until we finally decided to take tests. We didn’t speak as we waited, sitting side by side on the bathroom floor like we used to as kids. When the results appeared, neither of us needed to say a word.
Two lines.
For both of us.
Shock turned into fear, and fear into something deeper—confusion mixed with an unbreakable bond. We weren’t just facing unexpected futures… we were facing them together. And somehow, that made it both more terrifying and a little less lonely.
