Frank, my twin, was always such a pessimist. Even as a kid, nothing was good enough for him. But as an adult his negativity turned its glaring eyes on me. He would spit at me over the phone, calling me worthless and creepy. I’d scoff. Look in the mirror, Frank. But when he turned on Martha, that was a bridge too far.



I plucked a white rose from the bouquet on his table and painted it red in the puddle on the floor. Martha would be home soon. She’s going to love what I’ve done.



I’m optimistic.