She reached out a trembling hand, her fingers hovering two inches from Henry’s cheek without touching him.

“You have my brother’s exact hazel eyes,” Margaret whispered, her matriarch’s composure coming completely undone.

“My name is Henry Caldwell,” my son said clearly.

“I was born twelve minutes before Sam.”

“We’re quadruplets,” Sam said, standing beside his brother.

“Our birth certificates are registered with the state health department.”

Margaret pressed her fingers to her mouth, a small, ragged sound escaping her throat as she looked from face to face down the line of boys.

“Eight years,” Margaret whispered, looking up at Ethan on the bottom stair.