Seven months after our divorce, I rushed into St. Jude’s Children’s and Women’s Hospital, still angry at my ex-wife, only to learn that she had just given birth to twin boys, and both of them were mine. Before the night was over, a nurse would place a brass key in my hand and tell me to use it before my own family arrived. And what was waiting for me beyond that was even more shocking.

“Why on earth didn’t you tell me the truth back then?” I demanded.

“Because if I had told you during the divorce, those innocent babies would have been turned into weapons in the war,” she explained sadly.

“What war are you talking about?” I asked, frowning.

Sylvia slowly turned her head toward the window, looking out at the city lights sparkling against the night sky.

“The war your parents have been fighting for years,” she answered softly.

A muscle in my cheek twitched as anger rose inside me.