At first, everything became a competition.
Who could run faster.
Who drew better.
Who got the larger slice of cake.
Then they started noticing strange similarities.
Both hated peas.
Both slept with one foot outside the blanket.
Both drew the same crooked-looking stars.
Once, Cole accused Stefan of copying his picture.
“I drew mine first,” Stefan snapped.
Five minutes later, they were lying on the floor building the same crooked block tower together.
Another Sunday, Beth brought sandwiches cut into squares.
I brought sandwiches cut into triangles.
Without saying anything, the boys exchanged halves.
They were figuring each other out faster than the adults were.
Eventually, Cole stopped complaining that Stefan was annoying.
Stefan stopped forcing the word “brother” every chance he got.
Beth and I learned to share school updates, doctor appointments, memories, and painful conversations without pretending our situation was simple.
Months later, my mother hung a new family photograph in her hallway.
