Our Triplets Were Raised Identically—Then One Started Sharing Unexplainable Memories
We kept the drawings in a folder, tucked into the kitchen drawer where we used to keep preschool crafts and finger paintings. But this felt different—less like art, more like memory rendered in crayon.
One night, I heard soft footsteps and found Eli sitting at the dining table, sketching under the glow of a small lamp. He didn’t look up when I approached.
“The tulips are purple,” he murmured. “They turn red when it rains.”