PART 1

When I showed Daniel the positive pregnancy test, he stared at it for three seconds before his face lit up.

“Are you serious?”

I nodded, laughing from the kitchen floor.

He lifted me into his arms and shouted, “We’re having a baby!”

Three weeks later, the ultrasound gave us another surprise.

“There are two,” the technician said.

Daniel blinked. “Two what?”

“Two babies.”

For a moment, neither of us spoke.

Then he grinned.

“Twins?”

On the drive home, he started counting everything we would need.

“Two cribs. Two car seats. Two college funds.”

“Please stop.”

“And a bigger coffee machine.”

I laughed.

Back then, I thought we had decades ahead of us.

Daniel was always the calm one. Whenever I worried about premature labor, money, or whether we knew how to raise two babies, he gave me the same answer.

“We’ll handle it.”

Our apartment slowly filled with cribs, clothes, diapers, and baby furniture.

Daniel’s mother, Carol, visited often.

She brought food, folded clothes, and offered endless advice.

Looking back, she also watched Daniel more carefully than I understood.

One afternoon, while painting the nursery, Daniel climbed down from a ladder and suddenly grabbed a chair.

“You okay?” I asked.

“Fine.”

Carol immediately looked up.

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