Part 1

When my brother passed away, I put my own dreams aside to raise his twin sons, who were only five years old at the time. For thirteen years, I cared for them, protected them, and loved them as if they were my own. But on the night of their eighteenth birthday, after everyone had gone home, they placed a legal notice in front of me that shattered everything I thought I knew.

Morning sunlight stretched across my kitchen counter as I carefully placed eighteen candles on the chocolate cake I had baked before dawn.

Thirteen years.

That was how long it had been since my brother, Caleb, died.

Somehow, I had taken his two frightened little boys and carried them all the way to adulthood.

I glanced at Caleb’s framed photo in the hallway and smiled sadly.

I had no idea that by the end of that same day, I would be crying for a completely different reason.

The doorbell rang, and Aunt Marta came in with a casserole dish in her arms.

She kissed my cheek and said, “You look tired and beautiful at the same time.”

I laughed softly. “That has basically been my personality for the last thirteen years.”