Torn by my wife's twin

CHAPTER 1

Lana POV

You don’t get to choose which family you’re born into. I guess that much is true.

If your parents can buy you anything you want, if there’s always warm food waiting on the table, then you’re lucky.

As for me—I wasn’t that lucky. My parents barely earned enough to keep us afloat. I didn’t even realize how poor we were until the day Mom told me I had to stop going to school.

Can you imagine how that felt? While girls my age were getting new Barbie dolls or pretty dresses, I was told to quit school and help Mom sell cakes.

The suffering didn’t stop there. My twin sister, Luna, shut herself inside her room. We may have been twins, but we couldn’t have been more different. I only cried when I was sad, but Luna… she broke in silence. She was fragile in ways people couldn’t see.

Anyone who says crying is weakness doesn’t know the truth. Luna hurt herself when no one was watching. She stopped speaking, locked everyone out. Mom and Dad were terrified she might kill herself in the middle of the night. That’s why they asked me to sleep beside her—to keep her safe.

A month blurred past, days filled with nonstop work. My hands smelled of sugar and butter from shaping cake dough, even when I tried to scrub them clean. The air in our small home was always thick with the smell of yeast and smoke from the old oven. I don’t think any ten-year-old should’ve had to work like that, but somehow, I was proud of myself.

Then one Sunday morning, everything felt different. The sun spilled through our thin curtains, golden and warm, making dust motes shimmer in the air. Dad’s voice rang with unusual cheer as he told us to put on our nicest dresses.

“We’re going to have fun today,” he said, grinning. “The bakery’s closed, so I’m taking you both out for lunch. Then we’ll go to the amusement park.”

My heart leapt. It had been so long since he’d taken us anywhere. I put on the only decent dress I owned—a faded yellow one with a fraying hem. Luna wore hers too, though she still looked pale, her eyes shadowed from nights without sleep.

The drive felt like a celebration. A happy song played on the radio, sunlight flickered through the car windows, and the breeze carried the smell of freshly baked bread from the shops we passed. But even with all that cheer, Mom was quiet. Too quiet. She sat stiffly in the front seat, her hands folded tight in her lap. She only spoke to remind us to buckle our seatbelts.

When the car slowed, I leaned against the window, grinning when I saw where we were. Our favorite diner. My stomach growled in anticipation.

Inside, the red leather booths squeaked as we slid in. The place smelled of fried onions, sizzling patties, and chocolate syrup. We ordered cheeseburgers, fries, and tall chocolate milkshakes—the kind that made us lick our straws clean. For a while, it felt like heaven on earth.

But the illusion didn’t last.

After we ate, we piled back into the car, full and happy, ready for the amusement park. My heart raced when I spotted a big sign ahead. For a moment, I thought it belonged to the park—until I read it.

Orphanage.

The word was written in bold, capital letters on a weather-worn board. The building loomed gray and cold, with ivy crawling up its walls and a heavy iron gate that groaned when it opened. My stomach dropped.

“Daddy, what is this place? This isn’t the amusement park,” I asked, my voice small.

Dad parked and opened the door. He knelt in front of Luna, his expression unusually soft. “Luna, come with Daddy. I want you to meet someone.”

Luna froze, her eyes wide. She recoiled, clutching my hand as if I were her lifeline.

“No, Daddy!” she cried, shaking her head, tears spilling fast.

I didn’t understand what was happening. My pulse thundered in my ears.

Dad pried her away, ignoring her cries, and I sat frozen in the back seat. A nun appeared from the building, dressed in black and white, her face lined but kind. She greeted Dad warmly, as if this had all been arranged. Before I knew it, Luna was gone—dragged toward that gloomy building as she screamed my name.

Dad slid back into the car, his voice steady, almost too calm. “Lana, from now on, you’re our only child. You don’t have a twin. Do you understand?”

My throat burned. “What about Luna? Why did we leave her there? Please, Daddy, go back!”

But he didn’t turn around. He just kept driving.

I pressed my forehead to the cool glass, watching the orphanage fade from view. The image of Luna’s small figure, crying and reaching for me as the gates closed, burned itself into my memory—a scar I knew would never fade.