My life had always felt like a carefully scripted movie, every scene perfectly choreographed. I was Ashton Harris, the son of Alfonso Harris, a powerful businessman whose wealth was rivaled only by his ambition. I had everything a 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘥 could dream of: private school education, luxury cars, and vacations in exotic locations. Yet, on that fateful afternoon, as I slipped away from the insincere smiles of my father’s 𝐛𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐡day party, I stumbled upon a reality that would change my life forever.
Standing outside, I was drawn to the street, where I caught sight of a boy who looked just like me. His wide blue eyes mirrored my own, and his disheveled hair framed a face that was undeniably familiar. But there was a stark contrast between us; while I was clad in designer clothes, he wore a torn shirt and dirty jeans. His cheeks were sunken, a clear testament to the hunger he had endured.
For a moment, I thought my mind was playing tricks on me. Was this a cruel joke? A reflection of my own image? But then he blinked, and I realized he was real.
“Who are you?” I whispered, my heart racing.
“Luke,” he replied, his voice low and cautious.
“I’m Ashton,” I said, extending my hand. When our palms met, a jolt of recognition surged through me, as if our souls had intertwined long before this moment. But just as I was about to ask him more, my mother’s voice echoed through the air, calling my name. In an instant, Luke bolted away, disappearing into the throng of guests, leaving me with a whirlwind of questions.
That night, I lay in bed, haunted by the encounter. My mother tossed and turned, murmuring in her sleep. I could hear her soft cries as she whispered about giving 𝐛𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐡 to two babies, not one. My father, ever the skeptic, dismissed her fears as mere imagination. Yet, I couldn’t shake the feeling that my mother knew something she wasn’t saying. She held me tighter that night, as if she were trying to protect me from a truth that lingered just out of reach.
The next day at school, I confided in my best friend, Hazel. Unlike the others, who would have laughed off my story, her eyes widened in shock. “You need to find him again, Ashton,” she insisted, her voice firm.
With Hazel’s determination and the reluctant assistance of her driver, Theodore, we set out on a quest to uncover the truth. We retraced my steps to the very same street where I had first encountered Luke. As we approached, my heart raced with anticipation. And there he was, digging through a dumpster, searching for scraps of food.
Hazel gasped, her eyes darting between us. “You’re identical!” she exclaimed, her voice barely above a whisper.
We approached Luke cautiously, and after a few moments of hesitation, he agreed to talk. As we sat on the curb, he shared his story—a tale of abandonment and survival. He had grown up alone, relying on the kindness of strangers who had long since passed away. “I have no family,” he confessed, his voice cracking. “No home.”
