r kitchen, the scent of roas

x and Ben, "her" twin sons, alone. Tonight, the

refully. Her husband, Mark Thompson, and his mistress, Brenda Sullivan,

said. Sarah knew the trut

alien compared to the brick she'd owned back then. Sh

urday. Joint graduation and 18th bir

had cut ties when she chose to raise Ma

ompson table was the loudest. George and Patricia Thompson, Mark's parents, held cou

, will you? And tell the wai

smile fixed on her face

eamed at A

she declared, then glanced at where Brenda might h

ably. They knew the story: their father Mark and biological mo

cia leaned towards Sarah, her voice conspira

rd, your house will be so empty. It's far too big for one person. We were thinking

her own family inheritance, a fac

ced her f

she said, her voice calm and even.

fell over the Th

gasped. "Withou

trust fund for Alex and Ben. It will cover their Stanford education, living expenses, and

eir" grandsons mollified them somewhat. Satisfied, for now. Sarah watched