SERAPHINA "Sera" MORTEZ'S POINT OF VIEW
"I see... you must really love your names, then."
"Yes! So beautiful-Mommy picked them out herself!"
"Mine sounds like a lion, see? Roar!"
Laughter drifted through the window screen, warm as afternoon sun on my forearms. I'd pulled the patio chair close enough to see them huddled on the sofa-three heads bent together, their eyes the same shade of deep forest green. Even the twins' cheekbones, when they tilted their faces up, mirrored the line of Lucian's jaw.
I traced the edge of the chair's metal arm with my thumb. Four years I'd carried them, pushed through labor alone, wiped their tears and tied their shoes-and every time I looked at them, I saw him. The thought settled heavy in my ribs, a stone I'd learned to carry but never quite fit to my shape. And he still hadn't asked. Why would he? The memories he'd lost included every moment we'd made them.
