Chapter 60 - The Twins Break
The medical investigation should have pulled Abigail and Eden closer.
Instead, it broke them apart.
Eden blamed Lydia’s secrecy.
Abigail defended Lydia’s fear.
Both positions were understandable.
That made the fight worse.
They were in the Mercer library after a supervised afternoon with Noah when Eden said, “If Mom had told Grant about us and told him about her heart, half of this wouldn’t exist.”
Abigail snapped, “You don’t know that.”
“You don’t either.”
“She was scared.”
“Everybody keeps saying that like scared means smart.”
“I didn’t say smart.”
“You defend her every time.”
“No, I don’t.”
“You do when I say she hurt us.”
Abigail stood.
“She’s dead. What do you want me to do?”
“Stop acting like being dead makes her the one who lost the most!”
The room went absolutely still.
Eden knew instantly she had gone too far.
Abigail’s face emptied.
Then hardened.
“You had June.”
Eden closed her eyes.
“Don’t.”
“You had somebody every morning.”
“Don’t.”
“You had birthday cakes and school pickup and somebody who didn’t disappear after two secret visits a year.”
“At least Lydia wanted to see you as herself!”
“What?”
“She came to me pretending to be Aunt Lily!”
“And you think that’s worse?”
“Yes!”
Abigail laughed, sharp and broken.
“You got a mother who stayed. I got adults who kept me in hidden rooms so my real mother could visit me like I was evidence.”
Eden’s face crumpled.
“Fine. You win.”
Abigail froze.
“I wasn’t trying to win.”
“That’s what everybody says in this family after they hurt somebody.”
Eden walked out.
Nobody followed immediately.
Not me.
Not Grant.
Not June, who had been downstairs and heard the last part.
Abigail turned toward me.
“Why aren’t you fixing it?”
“Because I can’t.”
She looked furious.
“You always fix things with Noah.”
“No. I comfort Noah. That is different.”
“I hurt her.”
“Yes.”
“She hurt me.”
“Yes.”
“What am I supposed to do?”
“Decide what you want to do next.”
She hated that answer.
Good.
Sometimes children deserved the dignity of consequences instead of rescue.
Eden sat outside on the terrace steps.
June waited inside the door.
After ten minutes Abigail came out.
She stopped three feet away.
“I don’t think my pain is bigger than yours.”
Eden stared at the garden.
“I don’t think mine is bigger than yours either.”
“I’m jealous of June.”
“I’m jealous you remember Mom’s real perfume.”
Abigail sat.
“I hate that perfume.”
“I know.”
“How?”
“You told me.”
“Oh.”
Silence.
Then Eden said, “I’m sorry I said she lost the most.”
Abigail swallowed.
“I’m sorry I made June sound less real.”
Another silence.
No hug.
No miracle.
Then Noah pushed open the terrace door carrying two toy cars.
“Abby. Eee.”
Eden looked over.
“Eee?”
“He can’t say Eden,” I said.
Noah handed one car to Abigail and one to Eden.
Then kept the larger one for himself.
Abigail stared at him.
“He solved family fairness.”
Eden laughed.
“He gave himself the best car.”
“Exactly.”
That ordinary moment repaired what adults could not.
Later the girls began comparing Lydia’s letters.
For the first time, they put them in chronological order.
Something strange appeared.
Lydia had written half of the same bedtime story to each girl.
Abigail’s letters contained a red train, three doors, and a girl waiting on Platform One.
Eden’s letters contained a red train, three doors, and another girl waiting on Platform Two.
Neither had the ending.
Eden read the last line in one of her letters aloud.
“When both girls are ready, Platform Three opens.”
Abigail stared at her.
“That’s not metaphor.”
I thought of Union Depot.
Vault 214.
The railway photograph.
Eli was already standing.
The old station had three platforms.
Platforms One and Two had been renovated.
Platform Three had been permanently closed for structural repairs fifteen years earlier.
Grant looked at the girls.
“We let police check first.”
May you like
Both twins groaned simultaneously.
For the first time, they sounded exactly alike.
