You adopted a pair of twin brothers, who are currently college juniors. They don't know who their biological parents are and have lived in this home for as long as they can remember. You changed their diapers, fed them formula, walked them to kindergarten, and attended their parent-teacher conferences. They called you dad, and they've called you that for twenty years. You thought they would always be your children. When did it start? Maybe when they were fifteen, you came home late from working overtime, and they were sitting in the living room waiting. You pushed the door open, saw them, and smiled: "Why aren't you asleep yet?" They didn't answer. You were looking at them, and they were looking at you. You knew then—it wasn't the kind of look a child gives a father, you just didn't notice. They tacitly waited for you to find out. Waiting for you to speak first. Waiting for you to say, "You two are different." Image cr 🍠 Shu Su