by M. Billiter
“He didn’t leave until he saw that I’d returned—not my illness but me, his twin brother. He hung on. And then, and I’ll never forget this, he smiled.” I also smiled at the memory, even though it felt like I couldn’t stand. “Branson looked up at me and smiled.” I paused. “I’m really going to miss that smile.”
I stared at the coffin.
“You know, Branson had that smile, right?” I thought people in the church nodded, but it didn’t matter. “His eyes practically disappeared when he smiled. It was funny as hell.”
I wiped my nose on the sleeve of my jacket.
“The best thing about being a twin was Branson. He was the best part of me—hell, of both of us. I love him, and I owe him my life.” I stared at his coffin like he’d just get up and tell us it was all a joke. Only I knew it wasn’t.
“Everything reminds me of my twin brother. Just going through life now, there’s something missing, like a puzzle missing its final piece. I feel incomplete without him. And I know I’m not alone.” I looked at my mom, little Jack, and Carson. “I know we all feel that way.”
I wiped my eyes.
“People have told me that things will get better, but I can’t imagine healing from this. What people don’t know is what it’s like to be a twin. Being a twin creates a bond. Being an identical twin creates a partnership. I lost my best friend.” I lowered my head and took a moment while my heart shattered. Then I looked up with tears filling my eyes. “We all lost.”
I walked toward his coffin and placed my hand on it. “I love you, brother.”
* * *
Branson was more than my best friend, he was a part of my soul that disappeared when we lowered him into the ground.
Mornings were the worst. Every time I woke up, it hit me—Branson was gone, and he wasn’t coming back. It was like I relived his death every single morning. As if that didn’t suck, every time I looked in the mirror and saw his face, it brought more sadness and greater despair.
After we buried my brother, I removed all the mirrors in the treatment facility my mom found for me. I wasn’t ready to deal with the reality that the only reflection I would see would be my own and not Branson’s. One of the few people who seemed to understand any of this was Hannah.
Sweet Hannah.
She flew to Wyoming and stayed with my family. She visited me daily in the treatment center. She also joined the family support group with my mom, sister, and little brother.
They all had questions, and I wasn’t sure my answers satisfied them.
David provided a base, a foundation for me without any judgment. David was there just for me. I didn’t have to share him with anyone. I was relieved that with medication and counseling, his voice in my head was gone. I no longer felt divided, but I also didn’t know what to do next or who I was.
I’d been Branson’s twin for as long as I could remember. His absence in my life left a space that nothing and no one could fill—not even Hannah.
She did help me realize that I was not my illness though. She reminded me that when David was in my head, I was constantly flipping from one thing to the next, starting multiple things at once and maybe only finishing them half the time. It was why I maxed out my credit cards on clothes. I had no impulse control when David spoke, and I was narcissistic as hell. It was a wonder Hannah even stayed. But she had. And so had my family. They didn’t blame me for Branson’s death, but I did. I knew my twin brother would still be alive if I had been half as brave and courageous as him.
Branson’s counselor, Dr. Blaze, visited me and told me that my brother wouldn’t want me going through life blaming myself, nor was it a path toward healing. I wanted to heal, but I wasn’t sure how that was going to look without my twin.
After a recent family session, my mom returned my cell phone. It had been held by the police in Cleveland while they investigated Branson’s death, which was ruled an accidental shooting.
“Damn, you’ve got a cluttered inbox,” Carson said, peering over my shoulder. She sat next to me during family sessions like my new shadow.
“Yeah, I don’t have time to read all those emails,” I replied while we waited for my mom, who had taken Jack to the restroom.
She laughed. “Bro, I was talking about your voice mail.”
I glanced at the voice mail log. A backlog of old messages filled the screen. I scrolled to the top of the page. There was one new message on my phone from Branson. I looked at Carson, whose eyes filled with tears.
“I’ll go check on Mom,” she said before she left my room.
My finger shook as I hit Play and held the phone to my ear.
“Hey, bro, I’m coming to Ohio. I’m so excited to see you. It’s been too long. I don’t care what we do. I’m so proud of you and how far you’ve come. Ohio seems like it was the right move.”
There was a pause in the recording, and for a moment, I thought Branson had hung up. And then his gut-busting laughter filled my ear with the most heartwarming sound in the world. Tears streamed down my face.
“So, bro, I was just thinking about that time we switched classes in the first grade. How about we do that for graduation? I’ll finally be able to walk across the stage with honors.” He paused again and I held my breath, hoping his message wasn’t over.
“Man, I miss you. I can’t wait to see what the future holds for you. I know you’re going to do great things and make us all proud. See you soon!”
I could barely see the screen of my phone. But I made sure the message wasn’t deleted. When the screen faded to black, my reflection surfaced.
“I miss you too, Bran.”
The more I stared at the face we shared, the more I realized that I was the only one who could carry on the memory of my brother. If I was going to fulfill his last wish and have that bright future he imagined for me, I had to learn to move on without him. I wasn’t sure how that was possible, but I had to try.
I’m going to make you proud.
* * *
The End
Acknowledgments
Writing heals. When my son Kyle told me he was “hearing voices” during his senior year in high school, I took a scary, uncertain moment in my life and wrote through it. And I wasn’t alone—Kyle was beside me the entire time. I loved how Kyle summed up our work at a recent book signing: “We took something bad that happened and made something good out of it.” Agreed. Writing is healing.
Writing doesn’t happen in a vacuum. By writing through the pain, uncertainty, and fear, Kyle and I were able to heal and move forward. Through writing, the bond I have with my adult son grew even stronger.
Writing takes guts. There wasn’t anything easy about writing A Divided Mind or The Divided Twin. Both stories emotionally turned me inside out. And again, I wasn’t alone. Kyle was in his senior year of college when we began writing The Divided Twin. In between classes and work, he wrote. His journal entries provided the starting point and set the tone. By delving into parts of his past, Kyle allowed me into his pain and straight into his soul. Kyle, I’ve never been more in awe. You are a natural, beautiful storyteller. Thank you for sharing this journey with me.
My publisher, Becky Johnson, recognized Kyle’s contribution and placed his name beside mine on the cover. I don’t think I’ve ever been more honored or proud. Thank you, Becky. Thank you for extending your graciousness, kindness, and professionalism to my son. Thank you for valuing him, his work, and our writing journey. Thank you for putting a face and a story behind mental illness and helping to break the stigma. Thank you, thank you, thank you. xoxo
This story was personal and intense, and no one understood that more than our editor, Kristin Scearce. Thank you for answering my questions—and let’s be real, there were a lot, yet you always alleviated my concerns. Because at the end of the day, this remains a work of fiction. Kyle and I wanted to write this story to its ultimate apex. We went for broke, and our editor was with us every step of the way. So were all our beta readers and extra eyes on this manusc
ript. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
The Divided Twin was a collaborative process that extended to our beautifully, big blended family. Dylan Gullberg, Max Gullberg, Austin Thomas, Ciara Thomas, and Cooper Pigg—thank you for believing in this as much as we did.
A special thanks to Ciara, our videographer, book trailer creator, and tagline writer. CC, I love you berry, berry, triple berry much—always. Keep making art.
Super Cooper—you are my youngest and the first to read A Divided Mind. I’ll never forget when you phoned to tell me you had finished the book and were mad at me. Clearly, we need more of Jack in every book. I can’t wait to see what you think of The Divided Twin. I love you so much. You are the highlight to every day.
To the man who makes it possible for me to live the life of a writer, Ron Gullberg. My wonderfully bald, sexy man—you are my everything. And I promise someday we will have an empty nest. Until that happens, there’s no one I’d rather go through parenting, homework, and carpooling with than you. You make everything better—whether it’s making the kids mac n’cheese or movie nights in our bedroom, you bring lightness and joy into our lives. The best is yet to come.
And finally to our readers—thank you. Thank you for letting us into your lives and making us feel welcome there.
Mary & Kyle
About M. Billiter
M. Billiter is the alter ego of contemporary, award-winning romance author, Mary Billiter.
After writing more than a dozen love stories, she is exploring the other side. Best known for her emotional honesty, Mary doesn’t write about well-adjusted people, but rather the wounds in life.
M. Billiter writes with clarity and raw emotion to explore difficult subjects and issues close to her heart.
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www.mbilliter.com
https://www.facebook.com/mbilliterauthor/
Tangled Tree Publishing
As Hot Tree Publishing’s first imprint branch, Tangled Tree Publishing aims to bring darker, twisted, more tangled reads to its readers. Established in 2015, we have seen rousing success as a rising publishing house in the industry motivated by our enthusiasm and keen eye for talent. Driving us is our passion for the written word of all genres, but with Tangled Tree Publishing, we’re embarking on a whole new adventure with words of mystery, suspense, crime, and thrillers.
www.tangledtreepublishing.com
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