Two Hearts as One
When twin girls were born into the family, it wasn’t exactly a surprise, but Marina still felt a flicker of panic in the hospital. The nurses brought the identical babies for feeding and left them in her room.
“How will I ever tell them apart?” she wondered. “Knowing twins were coming was one thing, but seeing them—my own little girls, perfectly mirrored—was another.”
Yet Marina soon learned to distinguish them by tiny, secret signs only she noticed. Everyone else mixed them up.
Emily and Lily grew up inseparable, moving through nursery and school side by side. By their teens, they’d heard all the myths about twins—how the ancient Greeks believed them touched by the gods, how they shared a single soul between them, thinking and feeling as one.
And it was true. When Emily fell ill, Lily followed. They stumbled into near-identical mishaps, and their matching faces confused even their closest friends. Their personalities, their tastes—even the boys they fancied—were eerily aligned.
As sixth form ended, both excelled in their studies and planned for university. But that winter, Lily suddenly fell terribly ill. Emily braced herself, waiting to catch the same sickness—yet days passed, and nothing. Doctors rushed Lily to hospital, where tests revealed a grim truth: leukemia.
“You should’ve come sooner,” the consultants said. “Though we understand—without symptoms, who would?”
Six months later, spring took Lily with it. At the exact moment she passed, Emily gasped in class, clutching her chest as if her heart might burst. She nearly fainted.
Her parents feared she’d crumble under the loss. Emily herself expected to sicken like her sister. They rushed her to hospital, but the scans showed nothing wrong.
Grief weighed heavy in the house. Emily kept asking, “Why her? Why not me?” She told her mother, “It’s like part of me is gone.”
Marina fretted. “Love, your A-levels—you must focus. Do well—for yourself and for Lily.” Emily nodded, steeled herself, and aced her exams.
Through the sorrow, a resolve sparked. “Mum,” she said one evening, “I’m going to med school. I want to fight these bloody diseases.”
Marina hugged her. “Your dad and I will back you all the way.”
Years passed. The pain dulled, though Emily missed Lily fiercely—no one had ever understood her so completely. “Life feels split into ‘before’ and ‘after,’” she confessed. Marina knew the feeling.
Near the end of her studies, Emily met James. For the first time in years, her smiles reached her eyes. Love lent her new strength.
Three months in, Lily visited her dreams—waving, as if pointing somewhere. Emily woke unsettled. Lily had never appeared to her before.
“I need to visit her grave,” she decided. “Then the church.” Marina agreed.
On her way to campus, she called James. They’d planned to meet after lectures.
“Jim, I’m sorry—I’m going to the cemetery first. I need to.”
“Course, Em. Whatever you need,” he said.
Classes ended early. Relieved, Emily headed to the graveside, then the church. Plenty of time left to surprise James—it was his day off.
But his flat door was unlocked. She pushed it open, then froze. James was with another woman. All three stared in shock.
“Em—!” He jumped up.
“I never want to see you again,” she spat, bolting out.
Easier said than endured. Yet as the anger cooled, she reasoned, “Better now than after vows.”
James begged forgiveness, swearing it wouldn’t happen again.
“Never,” she snapped. “You make me sick.” He vanished—until friends called.
“Em, James borrowed cash, saying you’d cover it.”
She paid, disgusted but vindicated. Then she remembered Lily’s dream—that warning wave. Had her sister steered her clear?
Time healed. Emily graduated, working nights at the hospital. One evening, her Toyota stalled mid-drive.
“Brilliant,” she muttered, peering uselessly under the bonnet. “Just had you serviced!”
The engine roared back to life moments later. “Good girl,” she praised, rolling forward—only to hit gridlock. A horrific pile-up blocked the road.
“God… that could’ve been me.”
At the hospital, a tearful nurse met her. “My brother died in that crash.” Emily hugged her, chilled. Later, dressing for her shift, it hit her: *Lily stopped me.*
After work, the garage found nothing wrong with the car. “All clear—especially after your recent MOT.” Emily knew the truth.
She lit candles at church often, thanking Lily silently. Months later, a friend invited her to a café by the fountain.
Crossing the road, her bracelet—Lily’s—snapped, beads scattering. As she bent to gather them, a screech of tyres—then screams. A car had ploughed into pedestrians.
Her friend pulled her into a trembling hug. “Thank God you’re safe.”
At home, Emily eyed Lily’s photo on the dresser. The bracelet, the car—her sister’s hand, guiding her clear.
She wasn’t superstitious. She kept Lily’s trinkets in a box, unlike those who purged the past. Because Lily wasn’t in objects—she was in Emily’s pulse, her breath.
Two hearts, one soul. Emily lived for both now, and she knew—somewhere, Lily still walked beside her.
