The estate had been busy since morning.

Aunt Estella had taken over the kitchen before anyone else was awake. The smell of chocolate drifted through the house by mid-afternoon, threading through hallways and under doors, pulling the twins from their playroom with their noses lifted like animals catching a scent. The dining room table had been extended to its full length, covered in a white cloth that Lily had helped smooth down, her small hands pressing out wrinkles with intense concentration. Balloons bobbed in the corners—purple and blue, the twins’ choices.

It wasn’t a party. The twins had been clear about that. No crowd. No noise. Just family. Just dinner. Just the people who mattered.

Lily had chosen her own dress. It was printed with flowers—red and yellow, too bright for the season, too thin for the evening chill. She didn’t care. She’d stood in front of the mirror for ten minutes that morning, turning side to side, adjusting the collar, smoothing the skirt. Leo was in a buttoned shirt, his hair combed flat against his forehead, the whale nearby but not in his hands. He’d left it on the window bench when he came down. The mended Lion was upstairs in the bedroom, watching over the empty bed with its new button eye.

They waited at the front window.

Lily’s nose was pressed to the glass. Leo stood beside her, his hands flat on the sill, his breath fogging a small circle on the pane. They’d been there for twenty minutes.

"Kyle’s always late," Lily said. "He was late last time. Remember? He said his dad couldn’t find his shoes."

Leo typed: KYLE LOSES SHOES.

"He loses everything. He lost his dinosaur at our house once and we had to search for an hour."

UNDER COUCH.

"That’s right. Under the couch." Lily didn’t move from the window. "He’ll be here soon. Uncle Julian texted Uncle Franz. They’re on their way."

Arianne watched them from the doorway. Franz came up behind her, his hand finding the small of her back.

"They’ve been there since four," she said.

"Kyle packed his bag three times. Julian texted me."

"Three times?"

"The first time he forgot his toothbrush. The second time Ellie made him unpack because he’d put in a full set of encyclopedias. The third time he tried to smuggle in the family cat."

Arianne turned to look at him. "Is he bringing the cat?"

"No. Julian caught it."

"Good. Aunt Estella would not have been pleased."

"She’d have made the cat a birthday hat."

A car pulled into the drive. Lily’s shriek cut through the house before the engine had died. "They’re here! Leo, they’re here!"

She was off the window bench and running for the door before Franz could remind her to put on shoes. Leo followed at his own pace—still quiet, still measured, but faster than usual. His hand reached for the doorframe as he passed, a small touch, grounding.

But it was Nate.

He stepped out of his car with a gift bag in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other, his expression the particular mix of bemusement and warmth that children’s events always produced in him. Lily’s momentum carried her halfway down the front steps before she registered that it wasn’t Kyle.

"Uncle Nate!"

"Expecting someone else?"

"Kyle’s coming. He packed his bag three times."

"So I heard. I brought you something less exciting than Kyle." He handed her the gift bag. "Happy birthday."

Lily took it with both hands. "Can I open it now?"

"Wait for Leo."

"He’s coming. He’s slow."

"I’m aware."

Leo appeared in the doorway behind her. Nate handed him a second bag. "That one’s yours. Open them together. It’s a set."

The next car arrived before they could tear the paper. Julian’s sedan, a small shape already visible in the backseat window, already bouncing.

Kyle burst through the car door like he’d been held captive. His backpack was enormous—stuffed to the seams, bulging at the zipper, dragging off one shoulder. He ran across the gravel drive with the bag bouncing against his legs.

"I brought my action figures! And my dinosaur! And my puzzles! And my—" He stopped in front of Lily and Leo, panting. "Happy birthday!"

"You’re late," Lily said.

"My dad couldn’t find his keys."

TOLD YOU, Leo typed.

Kyle squinted at the tablet. "Told her what?"

"That you’re always late."

"I’m not always late. I’m just—mostly late. Sometimes late. Where’s the cake?"

"Dinner first," Arianne said from the doorway. "Cake after."

Kyle accepted this with the gravity of a five-year-old who understood that cake was a reward for surviving dinner. "Okay. Can we play first?"

"Until dinner’s ready."

The three children vanished into the house. Kyle’s backpack left a trail of excitement behind it. Lily’s voice carried from the playroom, already narrating something, already organizing the game. Leo’s tablet dinged once, twice.

Gilbert arrived last. Sam with her, her knuckles still faintly pink but no longer swollen, a silk scarf tied around her wrist that matched her dress. Audrey beside her, carrying a flat box wrapped in silver paper.

"Traffic," Gilbert said by way of greeting. "And Sam changed three times."

"I’m a Pemberton. We have standards."

"You have too many clothes."

"That’s not a thing."

They crowded into the entryway. Gifts were piled on the hall table. The dining room glowed with candlelight, the table set for a family dinner, balloons bobbing gently in the corners.

The children dominated dinner.

Kyle talked with his mouth full until Julian reminded him not to. Lily narrated everything—the food, the decorations, the exact sequence of events that had led to her choosing her flower dress. Leo ate quietly, his whale on the chair beside him now, retrieved from the window bench before the first course. He typed occasional words that Lily read aloud as if translating for a foreign dignitary.

"The Northern Lights," Lily said, gesturing with her fork. "We saw them at Uncle Gil’s cabin. They were green and purple. Green first, then purple. It was so cold my nose stopped working. But the lights were so pretty. Mommy would have loved them."

The words landed softly. The table didn’t freeze. No one exchanged looks. It was just true. Layla would have loved the Northern Lights. Lily knew it. She said it.

"And we’re going to see whales this summer," she continued, her fork moving to her peas. "Real ones. In the ocean. Not pictures. Leo wants whales. I want dolphins. Aunt Aria and Uncle Franz promised."

WHALES, Leo typed. IN PERSON.

Kyle’s eyes went wide. "Can I come?"

"We’ll ask," Julian said. "Eat your carrots."

"I don’t like carrots."

"Eat them anyway."

Nate leaned back in his chair, watching the children. "You two are busy," he said to Lily. "Northern Lights, whales, dolphins. When does school start again?"

"A couple of weeks," Arianne said. "The break is almost over."

"Are you ready to go back?" Nate asked Lily.

Lily considered this with the seriousness she brought to all questions. "Yes. I need to learn more things. Leo needs to learn more things too. We’re going to be in the same class."

SAME CLASS, Leo typed.

"They’ve always been in the same class," Franz said from his end of the table. "The school suggested separating them once." 𝗳𝚛𝗲𝕖𝚠𝚎𝚋𝗻𝗼𝕧𝗲𝐥.𝚌𝚘𝐦

"What happened?" Julian asked.

"Lily wrote them a letter explaining why it was a bad idea."

"She wrote a letter," Julian repeated.

"She was four."

"She’s still four," Arianne said. "She turns five today. As of—" she checked her watch. "About two hours ago. They were born in the evening."

"Hear that?" Sam said to Lily. "You’re officially five."

Lily looked deeply satisfied. "I feel five."

"What does five feel like?"

"Older. More responsible."

Gilbert snorted into his wine. Sam kicked him under the table.

The cake arrived.

Aunt Estella dimmed the lights—just enough for the candles to matter. Franz carried the cake from the kitchen, his hands steady under the massive platter. Three layers of chocolate, the frosting dark and glossy, strawberries arranged in concentric circles across the top. Five candles. The flames flickered in the dim room.

The table sang.

Lily sang along, loud and slightly off-key, her voice rising above the others because Lily did not do anything quietly. Leo’s lips moved—not singing, not quite, but shaped around the words. Kyle sang at the top of his lungs, his voice cracking on the high notes. The adults carried the melody underneath.

The song ended. The candles flickered.

"Make a wish," Sam said. "Both of you. Together."

Lily closed her eyes. Her face went serious—wish-making was important business. Leo stared at the candles for a moment, the flames reflected in his dark eyes. Then he closed them too.

The table was quiet. The candles burned.

They blew them out together—Lily first, Leo a half-second behind, their breath mingling in the smoke that curled up toward the ceiling.

Everyone clapped. Kyle cheered so loudly that Estella, in the kitchen, smiled.

"What did you wish for?" Sam asked.

Lily hesitated. She was particular about rules—the proper way to do things, the proper order. Wishes were supposed to stay inside you. Everyone knew that.

"It’s supposed to be a secret," she said.

Sam nodded. "You’re right. I shouldn’t have asked."

"But I’ll say one thing."

Lily looked at Leo. Leo looked back. Something passed between them—the silent current that had always run under their conversations, the understanding that didn’t need words.

Lily turned back to the table.

"Even though Mommy and Daddy aren’t here anymore—" She paused. Not because she was going to cry. Just because she was choosing the right words. "No one forgot about us. No one forgot about me and Leo. So I’m happy."

The table was quiet.

Leo reached for his tablet. Typed with one hand, the other resting on the table near his empty plate.

HAPPY.

Lily looked at his screen. Nodded. "Yeah. That too."

Gilbert cleared his throat. Nate studied his wine glass. Julian put his hand on Kyle’s shoulder, and Kyle, for once, was still.

Arianne looked at Lily. At Leo. At the candles still smoking faintly on the cake.

"No one forgot," she said. "No one will."

The children scattered to the playroom as soon as the plates were cleared. Kyle ran. Lily walked with dignity. Leo trailed behind, the whale under his arm, his tablet in his other hand. The door closed. The sounds of their game drifted down the hallway—Kyle laughing, Lily directing, Leo’s tablet dinging in response.

The adults stayed at the table. Wine glasses refilled. Cake plates pushed aside with smears of chocolate still clinging to the edges.

"She said no one forgot about them," Sam said quietly.

Arianne looked toward the hallway. "She’s been carrying that fear for a long time. That they’d be forgotten. That Alex and Layla would be forgotten. That they would disappear from memory the way they disappeared from everything else."

"No one in this house will let that happen," Gilbert said.

"No. Not in this house." Arianne turned back to the table. "They’re five years old now. They’ve been with us for over a year." She paused. "That’s not nothing."

Audrey met her eyes. "That’s everything."

The playroom door opened. Kyle’s voice drifted down the hall: "That’s not a real dinosaur, Lily, that’s a lizard!"

Lily’s voice, indignant: "It’s a dinosaur, you just don’t know dinosaurs!"

The adults smiled. The cake waited on its platter. The balloons bobbed in the corner. The house was full.