Childbirth was a haze of pain and confusion. I remember the doctor saying, “It’s a boy,” before everything went black. When I woke, they handed me Lucas. No one mentioned another baby.
For two decades, I was content—until the day I saw Lucas’s double in a bookstore. Same smile, same mannerisms. But Lucas stood right beside me. My hands shook as I asked the stranger his name. “Marco,” he said. Then he told me his birthday. April 18. Just like Lucas.
That night, I pulled out my old medical files. Buried in the paperwork was a note: “Second twin deceased.” But I’d never been told I had twins. After months of searching, I learned the truth: a hospital error. Marco had been given to another family, while another baby had tragically passed.
When we finally met, Marco’s adoptive parents were just as stunned as I was. But instead of anger, we found gratitude—for the years we each had with him. Today, Marco is part of both our lives. Sometimes, life writes unexpected chapters. But love? Love always finds its way.
