It was supposed to be a simple backyard thing. Balloons, cake, mismatched chairs, the twins in their bright snowsuits—even the weather showed up for us. I hadn’t slept in two nights prepping. My partner grilled. My mom made those weird but delicious deviled eggs. And for once, the twins were in sync—not crying, not throwing snacks, just wide-eyed and curious.
Then my father-in-law cleared his throat.
