“I want you to meet the family.”
That was the text.
No build-up. No context. Just emotional carpet bombing delivered via iMessage at 10:43 a.m. like it wasn’t going to ruin my entire day. I stared at it for a full minute, blinking like maybe if I refreshed the screen, it would turn into something sane... like “Can’t stop thinking about last night” or “You left your earring in my bed”... you know, normal post-s*x-with-the-wrong-twin communication.
But no. I got I want you to meet the family. With a smiley face. Like I wasn’t seconds away from cardiac arrest.
Worse? The next message.
“My brother’s back in town. I think it’s time.”
Time. Like we’d been doing this long enough for family introductions. Like I hadn’t just discovered the boy I’d built my life around was his f*****g twin.
I
