The girl beneath the oak tree looked young enough to be asking my husband for advice about college.
Then she folded her arms and said:
“I don’t want any more pictures, Dad.”
My hand flew to my mouth.
Ethan stood several yards away holding a small box filled with photographs of our four-month-old twins.
Kai in the striped beanie he had worn at the hospital.
Theo asleep against my chest.
Private pieces of our new family.
Pictures Ethan had secretly carried out to Cedar Hollow and handed to a teenage girl I had never seen before.
“I thought you’d want them,” Ethan said.
The girl shook her head.
“I want the truth.”
“Isla, I’m trying.”
“They’re my brothers.”
My entire body went cold.
Brothers.
“How much longer am I supposed to pretend they don’t exist?”
I gasped.
Ethan turned.
The color disappeared from his face.
