That pain will never completely go away, but I’m incredibly grateful to have my boys.

Yesterday was the twins’ eighteenth birthday.

The boys invited their friends over and had a barbecue in our backyard.

I ran into the kitchen to bring the cake outside when suddenly there was a knock at the door.

I opened it, and… no one was there.

There was a small gift box sitting on the porch.

Written across the top in black marker were the words:

“Happy birthday, brothers.”

My blood ran cold.

I carried the box into my bedroom.

I assumed someone was playing a cruel joke.

But something inside me told me I had to open that box.

So I did.

There was a note lying on top.