After Mary’s funeral, her mother withdrew from our lives.
Whenever I sent pictures of the girls, she answered with the same two words.
“Thank you,” she’d reply.
Nothing more.
I thought I understood.
Mary’s pregnancy had been difficult, with several frightening complications. But at our final appointment, the doctors assured us both babies were healthy.
We’d finally begun to relax.
That morning at the hospital, we’d even joked about names. Mary insisted twins didn’t need matching names, while I argued we should have decided months earlier.
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