From that moment on, I became the mother of two daughters.
They grew up side by side but utterly different.
Stephanie was fearless—climbing trees, speaking her mind, taking up space without apology. Ruth was gentle and observant, noticing everything, feeling deeply, asking questions that lingered long after bedtime.
But my love didn’t measure them differently.
I packed the same lunches. I kissed the same scraped knees. I attended the same school plays, sat through the same parent-teacher meetings, and stayed up for the same late-night talks when teenage worries felt enormous.
I thought we were solid. Unshakeable.
