The scent of burnt pancakes used to be a sign of a clumsy, happy morning in our household. Now, looking back, it was the first crack in the foundation of our lives. My name is Anna, and I have a twin brother named Daniel. When we were eighteen, we weren’t worried about mortgage payments or pediatric appointments. We were worried about college dorms and whether our mother’s “flu” was ever going to go away. The Tuesday the world ended started with those pancakes. Mom apologized for the char, promising to do better tomorrow. But by Friday, “tomorrow” had been replaced...
Continues…