I believed I’d buried one of my twin sons the day they were born. Five years later, a single moment at a playground made me question everything I thought I knew about that loss.
I’m Lana, and my son Stefan was five years old when my whole world tilted on its axis.
Five years earlier, I’d gone into labor believing I would leave with twin sons.
The pregnancy had been complicated from the start. I was put on modified bed rest at 28 weeks because of high blood pressure.
My obstetrician, Dr.
Perry, kept saying, “You need to stay calm, Lana. Your body’s working overtime.”
I did everything right. I ate what they told me, took every vitamin, and attended every appointment.
I talked to my belly every night.
“Hold on, boys,” I used to whisper. “Mom’s right here.”
The delivery came three weeks early and was difficult.
I remembered someone saying, “We’re losing one,” and then everything blurred.
When I woke up hours later, Dr. Perry stood beside my bed with a grave expression.
“I’m so sorry, Lana,” he said gently.
“One of the twins didn’t make it.”
I remember only seeing one baby. Stefan.
They told me there’d been complications and that Stefan’s brother was stillborn.
I was weak as the nurse guided my shaking hand to sign the forms. I didn’t even read them.
I never told Stefan about his twin.
I couldn’t. How do you explain to a small child something they shouldn’t have to carry? I convinced myself that silence was protection.
So I poured everything I had into raising him.
I loved him more than life itself.
Our Sunday walks became our tradition. Just the two of us wandering through the park near our apartment.
Stefan liked to count ducks by the pond. I liked watching him, his brown curls bouncing in the sunlight.
That Sunday seemed ordinary at first.
Stefan had just turned five a few weeks earlier.
He was at that stage when his imagination ran wild.
He told me about monsters that lived under his bed and astronauts who visited him in dreams.
We were walking past the swings when he stopped so suddenly that I nearly stumbled.
“Mom,” he said quietly.
He was staring across the playground. “He was in your belly with me.”
The certainty in his voice made my stomach tighten.
“What did you say?”
He pointed.
On the far swing, a little boy sat pumping his legs back and forth. His jacket was stained and too thin for the chilly air.
The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page.
Tap READ MORE to discover the rest 🔎👇
