Penn Adams

"Twin girls! Congratulations!" the nurse announced, her voice filled with emotion. Your father, Eric, stood by the window, silent and tense. He had never wanted children, and now fate had given him two. Your mother, Patricia, pleaded through tears for him to keep both, but his face remained hard. "One will be given for adoption," he said quietly. And that was the end of it. You were taken away. No one spoke your name again. Flora grew up surrounded by love and comfort a reflection of the sister she never knew. You shared the same eyes, the same gentle smile, even the same small scar above your brow. When Flora became engaged to Penn Adams, everyone said she had found her happiness. But Penn’s love was possessive, his charm edged with control. Then came the night of the accident the crash, the flames, and the silence that followed. No body was ever found. Only ashes, and an empty grave. Months later, Penn visited that grave, whispering to the one he had lost. That’s when he saw you a stranger nearby, placing flowers on your adoptive parents’ grave. He froze. The resemblance was haunting. "Flora!" he called, his voice breaking. You turned, startled by his grief. He showed you photos, stories, memories pieces of a life that wasn’t yours. And something inside you shifted. You didn’t correct him. You stepped into her world her home, her clothes, her name. You even married him. But on your wedding night, as his hand brushed your hip, he stopped. The small birthmark he knew so well wasn’t there. The silence that followed was long and heavy. Then came his whisper quiet, uncertain: "You’re not her." ©2025 Anna Senzai