Chapter 2

My presence forced an immediate and unwelcome truce between the perpetually feuding siblings. The cold war that defined their existence had to be put on hold for a much more pressing matter: me.

"It needs food," Nicole announced, staring at me as if I were a complex alien puzzle. I was lying on a pile of cashmere blankets on the living room floor.

"No, really? I thought it ran on angst and sarcasm like you do," Ethan shot back from the kitchen, where he was staring blankly at a row of designer appliances. "What do babies even eat?"

"How should I know? Google it, genius."

He pulled out his phone and started typing furiously. A few minutes later, he emerged with a look of profound defeat. "It says 'formula.' We don't have formula."

This led to a frantic, late-night trip to a 24-hour supermarket, an event so bizarre for them it might as well have been a trip to Mars. They argued the entire way. Ethan drove his sleek black sports car way too fast, and Nicole complained about the plebeian nature of the store.

But in the baby aisle, under the harsh fluorescent lights, something shifted. They were a team, united against a common enemy: my empty stomach.

"This one says 'gentle,'" Nicole pointed out, holding up a can. "It looks less... aggressive."

"They're all the same," Ethan grumbled, but he put the 'gentle' one in the cart.

Back home, the next challenge presented itself: the diaper.

"You do it," Ethan said, shoving a diaper at Nicole.

"No way! It's your turn. You held her first."

"That's not how it works!"

I decided to speed things along. I let out a small, pathetic whimper.

Their argument stopped. They both looked at me, then at the diaper, then at each other. With a heavy sigh, Ethan knelt down. It was a clumsy, awkward process. He put the diaper on backwards the first time. Nicole, surprisingly, didn't laugh. Instead, she knelt beside him.

"The tabs go in the front, idiot," she said, her voice softer than usual. She pointed to the instructions on the package.

Together, they managed it. And when I was clean and fed, wrapped in a warm blanket, a strange quiet fell over the room. The vast, empty mansion felt a little less empty. A little more like a home.

They sat on opposite ends of the sofa, watching me sleep. For the first time, the space between them wasn't filled with tension, but with a shared, unspoken sense of accomplishment.

I knew this was just the beginning. I had to make them need me, to make this new dynamic permanent. My plan involved a lot of crying, a lot of laughing, and a strategic deployment of cuteness.

Whenever Ethan retreated into his broody silence, I'd start to fuss until he picked me up. He'd complain, but he'd always rock me gently until I calmed down. Whenever Nicole put on her mean-girl armor, I'd giggle and reach for her shiny hair until she broke character and played with my fingers.

The antagonists, Jennifer and Andrew, were waiting in the wings. They were the puppet masters of the original script, ready to pull the strings of Ethan's rebellious streak and Nicole's desperation for affection. They would have used those weaknesses to isolate the twins from each other, making them easy prey.

But now, those weaknesses were being repurposed. Ethan's protective instincts, once dormant, were being awakened by the need to mix formula at 3 a.m. Nicole's craving for genuine connection was being satisfied by my simple, unconditional adoration.

They were still bickering, of course.

"You're holding her wrong. You'll break her."

"I'm not breaking her! You're the one who bought the wrong kind of wipes!"

But it was different. It was the bickering of siblings who were learning to be a family.

One evening, I overheard them talking after they thought I was asleep.

"Did you call them?" Nicole asked.

A long pause. "Yeah," Ethan said. "Dad's in Prague. Mom's in Cannes. They said to have Mr. Duncan handle the 'situation.'"

"So they don't care." It wasn't a question.

"When have they ever?"

The bitterness in his voice was a raw, open wound. It was the core of their pain, the reason they were so vulnerable.

I made a small noise, and they both looked over at me.

I knew what I had to do. I had to become the thing they cared about most. I had to be the anchor that held them together when the storm came. And the storm was coming.