Nigdy się nie ożeniłem, bo całe życie samotnie wychowywałem bliźniaków mojego brata. Ale to, co zrobili po osiemnastym roku życia, całkowicie mnie sparaliżowało.

She had died six years earlier.

I had not seen her handwriting since the week we emptied her house.

My fingers trembled.

I unfolded the paper.

There were only a few paragraphs.

Clara,

If you are reading this, then the boys are eighteen.

I know you.

I know you probably spent the last thirteen years telling yourself you were only doing what had to be done.

You will probably say you didn’t sacrifice anything.

You will probably say they were family.

You will probably say you would do it all again.

And I know you would.

But I want you to understand something.

Being needed is not the same thing as being loved.

You deserve a life that belongs to you.

Please don’t spend the rest of your life waiting for someone to need you.

Live.

Love.

Travel.

Laugh.

Make mistakes.

Buy something ridiculous.

Sleep late.

Plant flowers.

And if you ever find yourself wondering whether raising those boys was worth everything you gave up…

Look at them.

You will have your answer.

I couldn’t read the final lines.

Tears had completely covered the page.

Mason gently took the letter from my hands.

“What does it say?”

I laughed through my tears.

“Your grandmother knew me too well.”

Noah smiled.

“What else did she say?”

I looked at them.

“She told me to live.”