I still remember the exact smell of that kitchen—lemon dish soap mixed with the faint baby powder scent drifting down from upstairs where my twin sister Mia was finally napping with her newborn. Two years ago. I had come to help after the birth, playing the doting aunt while my own life felt like it was spinning nowhere. Mia and I were identical: same wavy chestnut hair that fell just past our shoulders, same full breasts that strained against tops, same wide hips and thick thighs that turned heads. From the back, especially when I wore her clothes, we were impossible to tell apart.
I stood at the sink in one of her loose sundresses, the thin cotton clinging to my curves from the humid afternoon heat. No bra. My n*****s had hardened against the fabric as I washed the endless bottles and p
