I thought I was driving to my late wife’s mountain house to finally let her go. Instead, I found two abandoned twin girls standing barefoot on the porch, clutching stale bread like it was the last thing keeping them alive. Minutes later, one of them whispered my wife’s name… and led me toward a hidden trail only Olivia had ever known.

“Is the bad man gone?” Ella asked.

I wiped my eyes hurriedly, standing up and opening the door for them. “Yeah,” I said, my voice thick with emotion. “He’s gone. He’s never coming back.”

I brought them inside, locking the heavy wooden door behind us. I spent the next hour heating up some soup from the pantry, watching them eat with a fierce, ravenous hunger that told me they hadn’t had a real meal in days. They didn’t speak much, but they kept their eyes glued to me, as if they were afraid I would disappear if they looked away.

After they finished, I set up two sleeping bags on the living room floor, right in front of the fireplace. They curled up together, their small bodies tangled up just like they had been on the porch.

Within minutes, they were fast asleep.

I sat in the armchair across from them, the photograph of Olivia resting in my lap. I traced the glass with my thumb, right where the dust had been wiped away.