The next afternoon, we decided to tell them everything. I made hot chocolate, a small comfort I hoped would soften the blow of what we were about to say. My husband, Daniel, sat stiffly on the couch. Sasha, the girls’ other mother, was on the edge of the armchair, looking ready to bolt at a moment’s notice. I knelt on the rug between Mia and Sophie, wanting to look them both directly in the eye.
“There’s something important we need to tell you,” I began, my voice as gentle as I could make it. “It’s big, and it’s okay to feel however you feel.”
Daniel cleared his throat, his voice quiet. “When you were born, Mia… I became your dad. I’ve always been your dad. But I’m not your biological father.”
Mia blinked, trying to process his words. “Then who is?”
Sasha took a deep breath, ready to fill in the missing pieces. “I was engaged to Daniel’s brother, Evan. You girls were born twins. He… wanted to give one of you up. I couldn’t. Daniel stepped in and raised Mia. I kept Sophie.”
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