From that moment on, I became their mother in every way that truly mattered. I was there through every sleepless night, pacing the floor of the estate while they cried with fevers that wouldn't break. I held them when they were sick, stayed up until dawn checking their breathing, terrified of losing them. I rushed them to the family doctor for broken bones, soothed their fears after nightmares, and kissed away every tear as if my love alone could protect them from the world.
I packed their lunches every single day without fail, making sure their favorite snacks were always tucked inside. I sat through parent-teacher conferences, celebrated every good grade like it was a personal victory, and treated every scraped knee like a milestone worth honoring. I watched them take their first steps, heard their first words, and stood in the crowd for every school play and sports game, cheering louder than anyone else.
I kissed their foreheads goodnight more times than I could ever count.
And I loved them. Fiercely. Completely. Without reservation.
Years passed before I even realized how deeply they had become my entire world.