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They stood quietly, taking in the serene landscape before the humble house they shared together. The grass swayed gently in the breeze, and the trees rustled softly. Wes’s eyes were fixed on the single road winding through the countryside, waiting for the first sign of movement, while his husband sat quietly behind.
A few days ago, they had received a letter—Wendy and Webber were coming to visit. The news had filled him with excitement and nostalgia. Those spirited children he’d met long ago were likely all grown up now, and he couldn’t wait to see how they’d changed.
Memories of their past adventures played vividly in his mind—the hard trials they endured together, but there were also the happy moments, when they were just being kids, and he was just someone trying to make sure they never lose that childhood spirit despite everything. Those moments had been fleeting but unforgettable.
Now, as he waited, he wondered what stories they’d bring and how their lives had unfolded since they last parted. The sun climbed higher, casting long shadows, and his heart quickened with anticipation.
Then, in the distance, he heard the faint rumble of an engine. His gaze sharpened, and he squinted down the road. Soon, an old car came into view, kicking up a thin cloud of dust. It was a reflection of the times, sturdy but worn, just like the memories he carried. A smile spread across his face as the car approached. They were here.
As the car stopped in front of the house, Wes stepped off the porch and made his way toward the road, his heart pounding with a mix of excitement and curiosity. He paused a short distance away, watching as the doors of the vehicle opened. First to step out was a blonde woman, dressed in a soft pink hat and matching fine clothes. It was Wendy—there was no mistaking her. The little girl he once knew had blossomed into a poised, elegant woman, yet something in her demeanor still carried the same vibes he remembered from their past.
Behind her, another figure emerged, and Wes’s eyes narrowed slightly in surprise. It was a tall man, his entire body shrouded in heavy clothing—thick layers that covered him from head to toe. The outfit seemed out of place in the warm weather, as if he were deliberately concealing himself. Wes felt a flicker of unease but quickly pushed it aside, focusing instead on the joy of seeing Wendy again. He took a step forward, ready to greet them, his smile widening.
Wes wasted no time and stepped forward, wrapping Wendy in a warm hug. The sudden gesture caught her off guard, her eyes widening in surprise as a soft gasp escaped her lips. Wendy had never been one for much physical affection—it wasn’t her way—but there was something undeniably comforting about Wes’s embrace, a familiar warmth that brought back a flood of memories. After a moment of hesitation, she awkwardly placed her hands on his back, patting him lightly as if unsure how to respond.
“Ah… yes,” she murmured. “It’s nice to see you again, Wes.” Her tone was soft, a mix of surprise and genuine warmth, though her usual reserved demeanor quickly resurfaced. She pulled back slightly, and they both observed each other's features, noticing the effects of time in each other's faces.
Wes was no longer wearing his makeup that she would see him wearing everyday, she had noticed the wrinkles already forming at the corner of his eyes, and a few strands of gray hair. Not to mention his fashion sense looks that of a “dad”, much more reserved than his flashy look. Despite that, Wes still maintained that same cheery and jovial personality she remembered.
Wes turned his attention back to the tall man, who was now glancing around cautiously, as if making sure no one else was nearby. After a moment, the man reached up and slowly removed his hat and hood, followed by the scarf that had been wrapped tightly around his neck. The reveal was unmistakable: the black fur, the delicate spider legs framing his face, and the multiple eyes that glimmered with a gentle light—it was Webber. All grown up, he was even taller than Wes's husband, his presence was both striking and imposing. Yet, despite his appearance, there was nothing intimidating about him. Webber’s kind aura and warm smile immediately put any unease to rest.
The spider-man’s face lit up as he greeted Wes in a deep, cheerful voice. “Long time no see, Wes! It’s us—do you remember?” he asked, as if there could possibly be anyone else in the world quite like him. Wes’s face broke into another wide smile, his eyes shining with joy. Without hesitation, he stepped forward and wrapped Webber in a tight hug, catching the taller man off guard. Webber let out a soft gasp, his multiple eyes blinking in surprise, but he quickly relaxed, returning the embrace with a gentle pat on Wes’s back.
Wendy watched quietly as Wes and Webber shared their heartfelt reunion, a faint smile tugging at her lips. But her attention soon drifted to the figure standing at the front of the house—Maxwell.
The signs of age appear much more noticeable in him as they are on Wes, hair almost fully gray, more wrinkles. Despite that, he still wears fine clothes, the dapperness never left him. Although, he still looks younger than his twin—Wendy's father.
Their eyes met, and for a moment, they simply stared at one another, the silence heavy with unspoken words. The awkwardness between them was palpable, a reminder of the complicated family history they shared. Finally, Maxwell broke the silence, his voice calm and measured, though devoid of warmth. “Greetings, Ms. Wendy, Mr. Webber… Long time no see,” he said, his tone neutral. And Wendy nodded.
—-------------------------
As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange, Maxwell and Wendy sat side by side on the porch, each in a weathered rocking chair. The silence between them was heavy, broken only by the faint creak of the chairs as they swayed gently. Inside, Wes and Webber moved about, organizing their things and preparing a room for their stay, their cheerful chatter drifting through the open windows—a stark contrast to the quiet tension outside.
Maxwell and Wendy remained silent, neither knowing how to start a conversation. They had never been ones for small talk, and the years apart had only deepened the awkwardness between them. Wendy kept her eyes on the fading light, her hands folded neatly, while Maxwell stared ahead, his fingers tapping lightly on the armrest, as he debated internally how he's going to start the conversation.
“Did Webber help you write the letter?” Maxwell asked, his voice cutting through the quiet like a knife.
“Yes,” Wendy replied almost immediately, her tone flat but her eyes widening slightly in surprise at the sudden break in silence.
“I see…” Maxwell sighed, his expression remaining stern and unreadable. The letter he had received not long ago, announcing Wendy and Webber’s visit, had carried a lighthearted tone—something that felt entirely unlike his niece. He leaned back in his rocking chair, the faint creak of wood filling the brief pause as he processed the information. Wendy, meanwhile, glanced at him sideways, unsure whether to say more or let the conversation end there. The silence between them returned.
“I imagined as much,” Maxwell said, his voice steady as he turned to look at Wendy. “You’ve always been the kind of person who’s straight to the point.” He paused, his gaze lingering on her for a moment before he continued, his tone firm but not unkind. “So, tell me, why are you here?”
Wendy hesitated, her eyes dropping to her hands as she let out a quiet sigh. She had known this moment would come, but that didn’t make it any easier. After a brief pause, she finally spoke, her voice soft but clear.
“Father died,” she said, the words hanging heavily in the air between them.
Maxwell’s expression remained stoic, though inside, it felt as though an arrow had struck his heart. Deep down, he had been expecting this. His brother—Wendy’s father—had been silent for years, and when Wendy’s letter arrived out of the blue, Maxwell had braced himself for the worst. Still, a small, stubborn part of him had clung to the faint hope that her visit might bring something other than bad news. That hope now lay shattered.
“I see…” Maxwell sighed, his voice low as he composed himself. He removed his glasses and pressed his fingers against his eyes, taking a moment to collect his thoughts before placing the glasses back on. His gaze drifted to his hands, his tone reflective as he spoke. “When I connected the dots, I was already expecting it… The paradox of the twins,” he murmured, almost to himself. “Jack and I were born on the same day, but as time passed for him here, time froze for us in the Constant. He aged before me.”
His words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of regret and the strange, cruel twist of fate that had separated them.
They sat in silence, each lost in their own thoughts, the weight of grief pressing heavily on their hearts. Yet, Wendy hadn’t come solely to deliver the news of her father’s passing. There was something else troubling her, something she couldn’t bring herself to say outright. She waited, hoping Maxwell would continue the conversation and give her an opening.
“When was it?” Maxwell finally asked, his voice quiet but steady. The question made Wendy tense—it was the one she had been dreading, but it was also the push she needed to confess what she had done.
She hesitated, her gaze flickering briefly to Maxwell before she answered, her voice barely above a whisper. “It was about two months ago.”
“Two months?” Maxwell’s eyes widened in confusion, his brow furrowing as he leaned forward slightly. “Then why…?”
The question made Wendy tense again. Maxwell hadn’t asked it aggressively, but his words forced her to confront something she had been avoiding for far too long.
“Jack hadn’t sent any letters for more than three years,” Maxwell began, his tone measured but tinged with a hint of frustration. “We used to keep in touch often, but suddenly, he stopped. He never responded to any of mine, either. I thought maybe age had finally caught up to him… But if he died only recently, why…?” His voice trailed off, leaving the question hanging in the air, heavy and unanswered.
Wendy sighed, her shoulders slumping as the weight of her guilt pressed down on her. After years of lying, she knew she had to face the truth. “I did a bad thing,” she admitted quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. Maxwell raised an eyebrow, his expression a mix of confusion and curiosity, but he remained silent, allowing her to continue.
“Lies are like snowballs,” she began, her tone somber. “You start with a small one, but the snow of lies keeps feeding it until it grows too big, too heavy, and completely out of your control…” She paused, her gaze dropping to her hands, which were now clenched tightly in her lap. The words were spilling out now, and there was no turning back.
“Back then,” Wendy began, her voice steady but laced with guilt, “when I first opened the flower shop, Dad casually asked me to drop a letter in the mail for him, since I was heading out anyway. It was one of the letters meant for you. I started doing it often after that—he was getting older, and I thought it was better for him to stay inside and rest. But then… I don't know what got into me.” She paused, her fingers fidgeting nervously. “Out of curiosity, I opened the letter. When I read it, I saw that Dad had invited you to visit… and I thought… *I don’t want to see that man again.*”
She hesitated, her gaze dropping to the floor as if ashamed to meet Maxwell’s eyes. “I didn’t send it. Instead, I hid it in my diary. When Dad asked me if I’d mailed it, I lied.” Her voice grew quieter, almost a whisper. “I told him I had.”
Maxwell listened in silence, his expression unreadable but his eyes sharp, as if piecing together a puzzle.
“And… after a while,” Wendy continued, her voice trembling slightly, “he noticed the lack of response. So, he wrote another letter and asked me to send it, just like before. I was worried he might mention the first one, so I opened it and read it. And sure enough, he had. I knew if you read it, you’d question why you hadn’t received the earlier letter, which would lead my dad to question me… and the truth would come out. So, I did it again. I didn’t send it.”
She paused, her hands clasped tightly together as if to steady herself.
“Then, a letter arrived for us—it was from you. I read it before giving it to my dad, and in it, you mentioned the lack of letters from him.
So… Instead of giving it to him, I hid it too. And that became my routine. Every time a letter came, I hid it. Until… my diary was full of undelivered letters.” She looked down, her voice growing quieter, heavy with regret.
“Eventually, after so long without a response, my dad stopped writing to you altogether. He thought maybe you didn’t want to contact him anymore. And I… I felt so sad and guilty, but by then, the snowball was too big, so big it would hurt to roll it down. I didn’t want to disappoint him, to make him angry with me, so I stayed silent.”
Her breath hitched, and she took a moment to compose herself, holding back tears. Maxwell remained silent, his expression unreadable, but his gaze never left her. Wendy swallowed hard and continued.
“At first, I did it to hide a lie, but… deep down, my grudge against you made me feel a twisted kind of relief that you two weren’t in contact anymore. I hated you. I thought it would be better for us to forget you… to move on. But…” She trailed off, her voice breaking as the weight of her guilt finally overwhelmed her. “But now I see how wrong I was. My dad… he died believing you hated him.”
At this point, Wendy could no longer hold back the tears. They ran down her cheeks as her hands clenched tightly in her lap. Her voice quivered as she spoke, each word heavy with many feelings.
“My mom, and Abigail… they’ve been gone for so long. You and I were the only family my dad had left at the end, and I separated you two.” Her words hung in the air, raw and painful, as if the weight of her confession had finally been lifted from her chest, but it still hurts.
….
Maxwell sat in stunned silence, his usual composure shattered. His mouth opened as if to speak, but no words came out. He looked at Wendy, his expression was unknown. For a long moment, he simply stared at the horizon again, his mind racing as he processed everything she had said. Finally, he exhaled deeply, a heavy, weary sound. He removed his glasses once more, pinching the bridge of his nose as he closed his eyes, as if trying to block out the world for just a moment.
Wendy watched him nervously, her tears still falling, unsure of what he would say or do. The silence between them was deafening, and it was making her uncomfortable.
“Aren’t you mad?” Wendy asked, her voice trembling but honest. She needed him to say something—anything.
Maxwell sighed deeply, his shoulders slumping as if the weight of the world had settled on them. “Yes, I am,” he admitted, his voice low and weary. “But… it’s not like I have the right to be.” Wendy wiped her tears, her expression was puzzled.
He continued. “I did the same thing to you. I took you from him, and because of that… you had to watch him die so early.” His words were quiet but carried a sharp edge of guilt. He looked away, unable to meet her gaze, as if the admission pained him as much as it did her.
Wendy stopped crying by now, the two of them were silent again, watching the night arrive, the night that they no longer fear. The air around was heavy with remorse and mourning, but also, relief.
“I’m sorry,” Wendy said, softly.
“I should apologize too,” Maxwell replied, his tone equally quiet.
Wendy sighed, her shoulders relaxing slightly. “...You already did,” she murmured.
The tension between them eased, if only a little, as the weight of their shared history settled into something quieter, something almost like understanding. The silence that followed was no longer heavy with unspoken words but instead felt like the first breath after a long storm.
—-------------------
After that, they shared dinner together, the mood was much lighter by the presence of Webber and Wes. Maxwell found himself smiling faintly as he observed the dynamic between Wendy and Webber. In them, he saw a reflection of himself and Wes—one calm and reserved, the other cheerful and optimistic. Over the next few days, as the once-children stayed in their home, Maxwell felt like something he hadn’t experienced in a long time: the warmth of a family reunion.
When the time came for Wendy and Webber to leave, the house felt quieter. As Wendy packed her luggage, she called out to Maxwell softly. “Hey… I should give you this.”
Maxwell turned to her, his eyes widening as he noticed what she held in her hands: a small stack of envelopes, carefully preserved.
“They’re for you… I should have mailed these long ago,” she said, her voice tinged with lingering guilt despite the resolution they had reached. She handed the letters to him, a bit hesitant.
Maxwell took the letters silently, he felt a lump in his throat as he took them. The weight of the unspoken words, the lost time, and the missed connections pressed heavily on him. He nodded, his expression a mix of gratitude and sorrow.
They said their goodbyes, the air between them lighter but still carrying the echoes of their shared past. As Wendy and Webber disappeared down the road in the car, Maxwell stood on the porch, the letters clutched tightly in his hands, feeling the bittersweet ache of closure and the faint hope of healing.
Wes approached Maxwell quietly, his presence a comforting anchor amidst the swirl of emotions. Together, they stepped inside, the familiar creak of the floorboards grounding them as they moved to the table. By now, Maxwell had already shared everything with Wes, and though his husband had chosen not to offer opinions—knowing this was a deeply personal family matter—his silent support spoke volumes. Wes reached out, his hand touched Maxwell’s gently, a small, reassuring smile on his face as they sat down.
Maxwell stared at the stack of letters on the table. He sighed with hesitation. Finally, he turned to Wes “I have a favor to ask you.”
Wes perked up, his curiosity evident and he tilted his head slightly, waiting for Maxwell to continue.
“Could you read them for me?” Maxwell asked, his tone almost vulnerable. “Your voice… it always makes me feel calmer.”
Wes blinked, surprised by the request, but then a warm smile spread across his face.
He nodded, he takes the first letter, and unfolds it.