Two Halves of One Soul
When the family welcomed two identical daughters, even though it wasn’t a surprise, Marina still felt a flicker of panic in the hospital. The twin girls were brought to her for feeding, then left in her room. “How will I ever tell them apart?” she wondered. “Knowing they’d be twins is one thing, but seeing them here, so perfectly alike—my sweet girls.”
Over time, though, Marina learned to spot the tiny differences only she could see. Everyone else mixed them up.
Emily and Sophie grew up inseparable—nursery, school, everything side by side. By secondary school, they’d heard all the twin myths—how the ancient Greeks believed twins were touched by the divine, how there was even a constellation named Gemini. People always said twins shared one soul, thought the same thoughts.
And it was true—when Emily caught a cold, Sophie would too, days later. They’d stumble into eerily similar situations. Mostly, though, people just mixed them up—same face, same mannerisms, even the same crushes.
By sixth form, they were both strong students, set for uni. Then, over Christmas break, Sophie fell ill—properly ill. Emily braced to feel it herself, but the days passed, and nothing. Their parents rushed Sophie to hospital, where tests revealed a grim truth: leukaemia. “You should’ve come sooner,” the doctors said, though they understood—who rushes to hospital without symptoms?
Six months later, spring came, and Sophie didn’t. Emily was in class when it happened, but she felt it—a sudden, searing pain in her chest, her heart hammering like it might burst. She nearly fainted.
Their parents were terrified for Emily. If losing Sophie didn’t break her, surely the guilt would—”Why her and not me?” Emily kept waiting to fall sick too. They dragged her to hospital for tests, but she was fine.
Grief hung heavy in the house. “It’s like part of me’s gone,” Emily whispered one night. Her mum squeezed her hand. “Love, you’ve got A-levels. Do well—for both of you now.” Emily nodded, clenched her fists, and aced them.
Then one evening, she said, “Mum… I want to study medicine. After all this, I—I need to fight these bloody diseases.” Her mum pulled her close. “Then you will. We’ll make sure of it.”
The ache dulled with time, but Sophie’s absence never left. “Life’s split into ‘before’ and ‘after,’” Emily told her mum, who understood better than anyone.
Years passed. Near the end of med school, Emily met James. For the first time in forever, she smiled properly—like he’d breathed life back into her. Three months in, she dreamt of Sophie: her sister, waving, pointing somewhere. It was the first time she’d appeared since the funeral.
“Need to visit the grave,” Emily thought the next morning. “And light a candle.” Her mum agreed.
On her way to uni, she called James—they’d planned for her to come over after lectures. “Something’s come up,” she said. “I’m stopping by the cemetery first. Then church.”
“Alright, love,” he said. “Do what you need to.”
Lectures got cancelled. Early, then—grave first, surprise James after. Oddly, his flat door was unlocked. She pushed it open and froze. James, tangled up with another woman. All three stared. “Em—” he scrambled up.
“Don’t ever speak to me again,” she spat, bolting.
Easier said than done, of course. But once the fury settled, she thought, “Thank God it happened now.” He’d already mentioned rings—imagine if he’d cheated later?
James begged forgiveness for weeks. “I don’t believe you,” she said coldly. “Piss off.” He vanished—until mates started calling. “Em, James borrowed cash, swore you’d cover it.”
She paid, seething. Scumbag move, but proof she’d dodged a bullet. Then it hit her—Sophie’s dream. That pointing? A warning. Like she’d been watching, steering her clear.
Time rolled on. Emily graduated, worked hospital shifts. One evening, driving to a night shift, her Toyota’s engine died mid-route. “Brilliant,” she muttered, popping the bonnet (uselessly). After a few tries, it roared back to life. “Good girl,” she cooed.
A mile ahead, traffic crawled. Four-car pile-up. “That could’ve been me,” she realised, chilled. At the hospital, a sobbing nurse confirmed it—her brother was in that wreck.
Later, in the staff room, it clicked: Sophie had stalled the car. Saved her.
The garage found nothing wrong. “All smooth,” they said. Emily knew better.
She lit candles often now, whispering thanks to Sophie. Months later, a mate rang: “Fancy coffee at the Fountain Café?”
Emily parked across the road, stepped toward the crossing—then her bracelet (Sophie’s) snapped, beads scattering. As she crouched, a screech—a car ploughed into pedestrians. The crossing she’d been about to step onto.
Her mate hugged her tight outside the café. “Christ, Em. Close one.”
That night, Emily caught Sophie’s photo on the dresser. The bracelet, the car—always her. Not superstition, just… love. She kept Sophie’s things in a box—no way she’d toss them. They weren’t just objects. They were halves of the same soul.
And Emily? She lived for two now. Always would.
