Walter returned home from work, and the piercing cries of his infant son greeted him, echoing through the house. His wife, Abby, sat in the kitchen, her face etched with exhaustion and frustration.“I’ve tried everything!” Abby broke into sobs. “I fed him, changed him, burped him, bathed him—nothing works! I even checked his temperature.
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OUR TRIPLETS WERE RAISED THE SAME WAY 👶👶👶 UNTIL ONE STARTED SAYING THINGS HE SHOULDN’T KNOW 😳 Everyone always joked we’d need color-coded bowties just to tell them apart. So we did—blue, teal, and red. Three perfect little copies, right down to the dimples. They finished each other’s sentences, had their own language, shared everything. It felt like raising one soul in three bodies. But a few weeks ago, Teal—Eli—started waking up crying. Not from nightmares. From what he called memories. He’d say things like, “Remember the old house with the red door?” We’ve never had a red door. Or, “Why don’t we see Mrs. Langley anymore? She always gave me peppermints.” We don’t know anyone named Langley. Last night ⬇️ (Full story in the comments) 👇
Everyone always joked that we’d need color-coded bowties just to tell them apart. So we did—blue, teal, red. Three perfect little copies, right down to the dimples….