Just then, my phone buzzed. A notification from Instagram.
I tapped the notification without thinking, and my screen lit up with a new post from Chloe.
In the photo, she was beaming, flanked by Julian on her left and Sebastian on her right. She looked like the very picture of bliss.
"Surrounded by the two most important men in my life. Can't wait to meet my little angel!"
Her caption was a victory lap, dripping with gloat.
A sharp pain lanced through my chest, and the tears I had been fighting to hold back finally broke free.
Chloe was surrounded by love. But what about me? What about Scarlett?
I had just lost my baby and was lying on a cold hospital bed. Scarlett had nearly frozen to death in a blizzard trying to save me.
The doctors had delivered the devastating news: the prolonged exposure to the cold had likely destroyed her chances of ever conceiving. She might never have a child of her own.
We had suffered so much, and our husbands didn't believe us. They didn't even care.
When my twin sister and I married the Sterling twin brothers, our story made the front page of The New York Times.
Everyone said it was a match made in heaven—the perfect foursome.
Twin sisters marrying twin brothers was the stuff of fairy tales.
People sent their blessings, hailing it as the most romantic story of the year.
But the fairy tale had curdled into a nightmare. Our marriages weren't just imperfect or unhappy. They were devastating.
"Scarlett, look at this," I choked out, handing her my phone.
She glanced at the screen, and a flicker of rage and despair crossed her face.
"How could she? This is just cruel," she said, her voice hollow with helplessness and pain.
She squeezed my hand, as if trying to transfer some of her own strength to me.
"Scarlett, we can't go on like this," I said, my voice firm despite the sobs wracking my body. "Let's divorce them. Together."
She hesitated for only a second before her chin lifted in resolve.
"Okay. Let's do it," she agreed. "There's no point in holding on to this."
