Tessa and Eden, the older two of the quadruplets, lived in candlelight and calm tones. Their brand—soaps, scrubs, oil rollers—had a huge following. Tess was the face, smiling through every post. Eden ran the backend, rarely appearing. One caption from Tess read: “We rise by softening what once hardened us.”
They spoke in metaphors and healing language. Justin wasn’t sure if it was real or marketing, but it worked. One post mentioned Lucy, tagged: “Taught us to begin again. And again.” He circled Tess in pen. Eden, he hesitated. There was a quiet in her feed that felt like it had sharp corners.
Leah and Juliette, the youngest girls, had profiles that were quieter, more lived-in. Juliette, the principal, posted about literacy programs and school board fights. Leah, the counselor, shared infographics about grief, teenage burnout, and how to speak when you’re afraid. In every photo, they stood side by side. Still identical. Still connected.
A post from Leah read: “Some kids are raised on love. Some on absence. Both shape us.” Justin closed his eyes for a second. Juliette had pinned a graduation picture with Lucy, captioned: “Every promise she made, she kept.” He flagged Leah with a shaky hand, then closed the screen, Juliette, he didn’t dare. The plane was beginning to descend.