Both her fathers die on the same day.

Clover’s mother answers the door to spinning red and blue lights, the grave face of an officer, and the deepest condolences he can offer. Clover is twelve. Princeton is seven. The news of Mr. Lee’s both heroic and tragic death affect her so deeply that while she sobs and sobs into her mother’s shirt, Princeton cries at home in his bed as well.

Mr. Lee died a hero, her mother tells her. He'd come across a man beating a woman on his way home from work, had rushed in to save her, and succeeded. But now he's gone.

Wailing into his pillow is how Prince's mother finds him hours later, but his day doesn't get better. She tells him about the heart attack, and his world is shattered for the second time.

The funerals are scheduled for Sunday, and Clover can barely stomach the idea of burying both her dads at the same time. Mrs. Lee holds her hand tightly during the service, and somewhere else, Prince’s mom hold his hands, too.

At the cemetery, Clover can’t help but notice the scenery is similar to where Prince’s father is being buried. The same green grass rolls over the hills, the same soft trees lining the winding roads, and the same cloudless sky hangs overhead. She realizes, as her father and Princeton’s are lowered into the ground, that they're in the same place.

The ceremonies end simultaneously, and she rips her hand from her mother’s and runs blindly into the trees and past rows of headstones as fast as she can. Prince tears away from his family and runs, as well.

They ignore the cries for them to come back, ignore everything else, and soon spot a large, gnarled tree, distinctive and unmistakable. Clover's heart is pounding in her chest as she flips around it, and freezes.

“Oh my god,” she breathes.

Their chests rise and fall in disharmonious time. Through Prince’s eyes, she sees herself.

Through her own, she sees him.

“Are you real?” she whispers.

“Yes,” he replies.

“We’re not two people, are we?” Colver continues, but Prince is saying it too.

“I was Clover for five years,” she tells herself from his mouth, “and then I was someone else. I was me.”

“And now I’m both of us,” Prince whispers through Clover’s lips.

Their families appear shortly, and they are torn away from each other before they can even touch. Clover has a better understanding of herself that day, a stronger sense of identity. She isn't crazy. She isn't imagining things. Clover isn’t just Clover and Prince isn’t just Prince.

They are one, and they know that now beyond a shadow of a doubt.