“Be our mother,” two pairs of blue eyes look at me with hope. “W-what?” I’m in shock. “Please, be our mother,” asks a girl of about five. “We really need a mother,” she looks at me with such hope that my heart turns over. “All the nannies are bad; they don’t love us. And you’re kind. You’ll love us.” “And you smell delicious,” a little boy smiles. “Like buns.” On the day when the doctors forbade me to have children, two mischievous twins appeared at the doorstep of my café. They sneaked into the kitchen, stole pastries, and now they won’t say who their father is and where he lives. And they also ask me to become their mother.