Austin damaged the car they shared by backing into a post.

Their landlord announced a rent increase.

None of those problems cared about the mystery of their birth.

One evening the two of them appeared at my door with a spreadsheet of expenses and faces that suggested a national emergency.

“Can you explain taxes?” Wyatt asked.

“You moved out because you were ready to be independent,” I said.

Austin raised a finger.

“We are independent.