He found the truth in a forgotten envelope, tucked behind her old tax returns.
Sam wasn’t his nephew; he was his son.
Ten years ago, nights blurred by wine and candlelight, a marathon of near constant sex. Every night, his wife would seduce him in new ways. The perks of being newlyweds— at least that’s what he thought.
How could he have known? It was the same moan, the same skin, the same wedding ringed hand clawing into him. Every time he came, her legs coiled around him. She said she wanted him to claim her.
So he did.
He had no reason to think it wasn’t his wife, but twins share more than faces. They were pregnant at the same time. He should have known. Two cribs, two babies, born weeks apart— the sisters planned it like matching dresses.
If they couldn’t have twins, they were going to orchestrate their own. He remembered their smiles in the hospital.
Now he understood why.*
Liminal Window 