You gave birth to two at once? I’m leaving! I want to live for myself!”
he said, standing at the edge of my hospital bed, his gaze as cold as ice.
I was still holding our newborn twins in my arms.

I stared at him, too stunned to speak. My body was exhausted, stitched, and aching, the hospital gown clinging to me like the weight of a nightmare. The twins—my twins—slept against my chest, wrapped in soft white blankets, oblivious to the life already crumbling around them.

“I didn’t sign up for this,” Nathan muttered, adjusting the collar of his coat. “I wanted a baby, not a circus. Twins? That’s… that’s too much. You deal with it. I have a life to live.”

And just like that, he turned and left. No goodbyes. No kisses. No whispering of names to the children he had helped bring into the world.

I didn’t cry. Not then.

There were more pressing things to worry about than heartbreak, like how I was going to feed two babies with barely enough money for one. I was a 26-year-old waitress who had put her dreams of finishing college on hold to support Nathan’s career as a promising graphic designer. He always said we would “build our future together.” He just didn’t say he’d give up mid-construction.

The days turned into weeks. I named them Isaac and Eli, two little sunshines who gave me reasons to get up even when I was too tired to stand. I worked night shifts and odd jobs. I breastfed between desks, slept through their naps, cried in the bathroom at work. No family came to help; my parents had passed away years before, and Nathan’s family pretended we didn’t exist.

But what we lacked in support we made up for in love.

They were beautiful children. Eli was quieter, always attentive and curious. Isaac was louder, his cry higher-pitched, but his laugh also louder. They crawled early, walked late, and never let go of each other’s hands in the crib.

I remember one winter night when the power went out. It was freezing in the apartment, but I wrapped the children in every blanket I had and snuggled up with them on the couch. We told each other stories, while our breath made clouds in the air.

“Why don’t we have a dad?” Isaac asked one night when they were seven.

“He wasn’t ready for a family,” I said gently. “But I was. And they have each other. That’s enough.”

They nodded. But I could see the questions in their eyes. The longing.

So I made them a promise.

I will raise them strong, smart, and kind. And one day, the world will know their names.

Years passed. I sacrificed everything. No vacations, no dates, no fancy dinners; just work, tutoring, and love. I borrowed any book I couldn’t afford. I took every opportunity to get books for my children. I slept in the car during their after-school activities just to save gas on the commute.

They never let me down.

Isaac excelled in math and leadership, Eli in computer science and strategy. They were different, but inseparable, always encouraging each other. By 17, they had already started a small online business: an educational app for low-income children.

At 22, they founded a tech startup that caught the attention of major investors. I watched in awe as they turned a cooking dream into a business empire.

They named it  TwiceBright  , in honor of being twins and in honor of the nights we spent studying by candlelight.

And me? I watched from the sidelines. Proud. Tired. But fulfilled.

Then one day, after a press event, Eli came home with a strange look on his face.

“Mom,” she said, putting down her backpack. “Do you remember Dad?”

The word hurt me, although I had long since learned to live with its sharpness.

“Yes,” I replied, trying to appear neutral. “Why?”

He pulled out a resume. A very familiar name was printed at the top:  Nathan Keane  .

“He applied for a senior consultant position in our design department,” Isaac said, coming out of the kitchen. “He didn’t know who we were. We haven’t told him… yet.”

I froze.

“What did you do?”

Eli’s lips curved into a calm, indecipherable smile. “We’re inviting you for a second interview.”

The conference room was cold, quiet, and spotless—a far cry from the life Nathan had abandoned three decades earlier. Now, the only thing out of place was him.

He sat nervously, drumming his fingers on the polished mahogany table, wearing a cheap suit and a forced smile. His hair was grayer and his face more weathered, but I would have recognized that cowardice anywhere. He tried to look confident, like a man in control, but I could see the tremble in his jaw.

Then the door opened.

Isaac and Eli walked in, dressed in elegant navy suits with the TwiceBright logo subtly embroidered on the pockets. Calm. Serene. Powerful.

Nathan quickly stood up and extended his hand. “Good morning, gentlemen. Thank you for the opportunity.”

Isaac didn’t shake him. Eli just pointed at the seat. “Let’s begin.”

Nathan cleared his throat. “I’ve reviewed the job specifications. I think my design experience could add a lot of value to your upcoming projects. I’ve followed your company from the beginning. What you’ve done is incredible.”

Eli raised an eyebrow. “From the beginning?”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Nathan stammered. “I’ve read all the articles and seen all the presentations.”

Isaac leaned forward. “Then you should know that we founded TwiceBright in honor of our mother.”

Nathan paused. “Oh… yes. Yes, I read it. Very moving. You must be… very proud.”

“It is,” Isaac said, his expression unreadable.

There was a moment of silence.

Nathan looked at them, visibly uncomfortable. “You know, it’s weird… I knew a woman who had twins. A long time ago. Unfortunately, it didn’t work out between us. I was young, naive. I walked away. I’ve regretted it every day since.”

Eli clenched his jaw, but his voice was calm. “Do you remember her name?”

Nathan hesitated. “Her name was… Clara.”