It had been a week since Nathan and Maya started kindergarten, and Katherine couldn't have been more grateful. Every morning had become a little victory—no whining, no clinging, no begging to stay home. The twins woke up with smiles, their eyes sparkling with anticipation.
She sometimes caught herself staring at them, a strange tightness in her chest. Perhaps it was pride. Or maybe it was that bittersweet realization that they were growing up, learning to walk paths without her holding their hands.
Even though they had been placed in different classes, it didn't seem to bother them. Nathan was a little more independent, confident, quick to adapt. Maya, softer around the edges, took comfort in seeing her brother during recess or at lunch. Katherine often told herself: They're strong. They're managing. They're surviving. Much like her.
