The sitting room was warm. The twins were in their pajamas—Lily in blue with small stars, Leo in gray with a whale on the chest. They sat side by side on the sofa, Lily’s feet not quite reaching the floor, Leo’s whale positioned beside him like a third participant.

Franz had called them down after dinner. Not urgent. Just—a talk, he’d said. Lily had come immediately. Leo had followed, but his pace had slowed at the door.

Arianne sat in the armchair near the window. Franz took the edge of the coffee table, bringing himself to their level.

"Your dad’s birthday is next week," he said.

Lily’s hands went still in her lap.

Leo didn’t move.

"I know we didn’t do anything for the anniversary. Grandpa Vincent wasn’t well, and we weren’t sure—" Franz stopped. Started again. "We weren’t sure how you’d feel. We should have asked you then. We’re asking now."

The silence stretched. Outside, the early spring wind moved through the bare branches. Inside, the lamplight fell warm across the rug.

"What do you want to do?" Franz asked. "For his birthday. We can visit the mausoleum. We can stay home. We can do something else. Whatever you want."

Leo’s tablet lay on the cushion beside him. Screen dark. He didn’t reach for it.

Lily looked at Franz. Then at Arianne. Her face was doing something complicated—the expression of a child who had already thought about this, already rehearsed, already prepared a position.

"I thought you said we were your babies," she said.

Franz didn’t flinch. "You are."

"Until the real baby comes."

"That’s not—" He stopped. His voice came slower. "That’s not what I meant. Not ever what I meant."

Lily’s hands were still in her lap. Perfectly still. The stillness of a child who had learned, somewhere along the way, that adults left and the ones who stayed might change their minds.

"You said we didn’t have to ask," she said. "To be your babies. You said that."

"I meant it."

"But now you want us to remember our real daddy."

Arianne watched. Franz’s jaw moved. He was calculating—she could see him doing it, the way he calculated a scene, a line, a moment that mattered. He was trying to find the right words and coming up short.

"Lily," Arianne said.

Lily turned to her. Her eyes were dry. That was worse.

"Don’t you like us anymore?"

The question landed in the center of the room.

Arianne didn’t move. Didn’t rush to close the distance. She stayed in the armchair, her hands on her knees, her voice level.

"That would never happen."

"But you want us to remember them."

"I think your mom and dad would be very sad if you forgot about them."

Lily’s mouth opened. Closed.

Leo reached for his tablet. The screen lit. His fingers moved, slow, deliberate.

I STILL REMEMBER

Arianne read it. "I know you do."

EVERY DAY

"Yes."

Lily looked at her brother. At the tablet. At the whale beside him. Something in her face changed—not breaking, but yielding. The way a wall yields when it realizes it’s been holding back something that was never an enemy.

"I still miss them," she said. Her voice was smaller now. Not less certain. Just smaller. "Mommy. Daddy. I miss them."

Franz leaned forward. His elbows on his knees. His hands open.

"I miss them too," he said. "Alex was my brother. I knew him my whole life. I miss him every day."

Lily looked at him. "You do?"

"Every day." He held her gaze. "Me loving you doesn’t replace him. It can’t. He’s your dad. Layla’s your mom. Nothing changes that."

"Then why—" Lily stopped. Swallowed. "Why did you say we were your babies?"

Franz was quiet for a moment. When he spoke, his voice was rough at the edges.

"Because you are. You’re mine. And you’re theirs. Both things can be true."

Lily considered this. She was old enough now to hold two truths at once—old enough to understand that love wasn’t a subtraction, that adding someone didn’t mean taking someone else away. But she was also young enough that the fear still lived in her. The fear of being left. The fear of being replaced. The fear that had taken root the night her parents didn’t come home with them.

"Leo," she said. "What do you think?"

Leo typed. The screen glowed.

DADDY BIRTHDAY

Lily read it. She nodded slowly. "We should do something. For Daddy’s birthday."

"What would you like to do?" Arianne asked.

"Something small." Lily’s voice was steadier now. Planning. Organizing. The Lily who made lists and proposals. "Not a big thing. Just—us. Maybe we could go to the mausoleum. Bring flowers. Mommy liked yellow ones."

"She did," Franz said. "She planted them in the garden at your house."

"The yellow ones with the big petals."

"Roses."

"Yes. Those."

Leo typed again.

STAY TOGETHER

"Of course," Franz said. "We’ll all go."

Lily looked at Arianne. "Will you come too?"

"Yes."

"Did you know them like Uncle Franz did?" Lily’s voice was curious now. Not testing. Just asking.

Arianne paused. The question deserved more than an easy answer.

"Your father was my best friend," she said. "From when we were young. Before you were born. Before I left. He helped me when no one else would."

Lily was very still.

"He used to make me laugh when I was too serious. Which was often. He said I needed someone to remind me that not everything was a negotiation." She paused. "He was right."

"What about Mommy?"

Arianne chose her words carefully. "Your mother was kind. She was quiet, but she noticed things. She remembered details. She never forgot a birthday or a favorite flower or the way someone took their tea."

Lily’s eyes were bright now. Not crying. Just—bright.

"She took pictures," Lily said. "All the time. Of us. Of Daddy. Of buildings and things."

"She did."

"I still look at them sometimes. The ones she left."

Arianne didn’t say anything about what those photographs meant. She didn’t say anything about the evidence Layla had hidden in her bedside drawer. The twins didn’t know. They wouldn’t know. Not until they were old enough to understand what their parents had been doing. Not until the danger was past.

"She loved you very much," Arianne said. "Both of you."

Leo typed. The screen glowed in the dim room.

MOMMY LOVED US

"Yes," Arianne said. "She did."

The room settled. Outside, the wind had stilled. Inside, the lamplight held its steady circle. Franz reached out and put his hand on Leo’s knee. Leo didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull away. He put his small hand on top of Franz’s and left it there.

"We’ll go Saturday," Franz said. "Alex’s birthday. Yellow roses. All of us."

Lily nodded. "And then we come home and have cake."

"Cake?"

"Birthdays have cake. Even if the person isn’t—" She stopped. Swallowed. "Even if. It’s still their birthday."

Franz looked at Arianne. Something passed between them.

"Cake," he said. "What kind?"

"Chocolate," Lily said. "Daddy liked chocolate."

"Chocolate," Franz agreed.

"Mommy liked vanilla," Lily added. "With strawberries. But her birthday is later. We can do that one too."

"Then we’ll have chocolate for Alex," Arianne said. "And vanilla with strawberries for Layla. When it’s time."

Lily looked at her for a long moment. Then she slid off the sofa, crossed the rug, and climbed into Arianne’s lap.

Arianne’s arms came around her. Not stiff. Not hesitant. Just there.

Leo typed one more thing. He held it up for the room.

SEE MOMMY AND DADDY

No one corrected him. No one said it was more complicated than that. They sat in the lamplight, the four of them—Lily curled against Arianne’s chest, Leo’s hand on Franz’s, the whale and the tablet and let the words stand.