The days after Liam’s quiet confession by the fire felt like the cabin was holding its breath. Conversations were softer, touches lingered longer, glances carried more weight. Everyone was trying—honestly trying—to navigate the shifting ground beneath us. But the youngest twins, Isaac and Chase, started to fade into the background.
I noticed it slowly at first.
They skipped breakfast two mornings in a row, claiming they’d already eaten. Movie nights became “maybe later.” Their usual loud laughter—always the first sound in any room—grew quieter, then rare. When the group gathered, they sat on the edges, phones in hand, half-listening. They didn’t tease. They didn’t flirt. They just… watched.
I recognized the look.
I’d worn it myself not long ago.
The fear of being overlooked. The slow
