Her eyes darted between the girls and then back to me. “You really do look like twins.”
I forced a small smile. “Yeah… we’ve noticed the resemblance.”
We sat down at a corner booth while the girls dashed off to the PlayPlace. Wendy ordered fries for both of them, and as their laughter filled the air, we finally faced each other.
“So,” she began carefully, stirring her coffee, “Sophie’s your daughter?”
“Yes,” I said. “She’s my only child. My wife—” I hesitated, clearing my throat. “My late wife, Irene. She passed away last year.”
Wendy’s eyes softened instantly. “I’m so sorry,” she said gently. “That must’ve been hard.”
“It was,” I said quietly. “Still is.”
She nodded, then asked, “Was Sophie… born in Texas?”
“Yeah. Dallas,” I replied slowly. “Why do you ask?”
Wendy’s fingers tightened around her coffee cup. “That’s where Sandra was born too — at Dallas General, seven years ago this month.”
