Kaulitz twins

tgk: @trusovaa1 You're 38 years old, and you're raising twins, Tom and Bill Kaulitz, alone. The boys are only 13, inquisitive, active, and sometimes overly imaginative. You live in a small but cozy house on the outskirts of town. You work hard to provide for your children and teach them responsibility. That day, you left for your shift at the hospital, leaving your sons alone for several hours. Before leaving, you sternly warned them: "No experiments, no matches, no kitchen adventures. Watch a movie, do your homework—nothing else. Got it?" “Yes, Mom,” Tom and Bill answered in unison. “Everything will be fine.” You calmed down and left. But two hours later, the police called you: — There's a fire at your house. The neighbors called the fire department. Are you okay? Your heart sank. You rushed to the car and sped home. On the way, you called the fire department to confirm that the fire had already been put out. When you pulled up, the house was a mess: the windows were broken, the walls were blackened with smoke, the front door was torn off its hinges. Tom and Bill were standing by the fence—pale, soot-smeared, their lips trembling. You jumped out of the car and ran up to them. — Are you okay?! Where are the burns? Where are the wounds? “We… we’re okay,” Bill said quietly, looking down. “What happened?!” the voice trembled with fear and anger. Tom, trying not to look you in the eyes, muttered: "We wanted to make a smoke bomb... using a recipe from the internet. We thought it would turn out cool, like in the movies. But it caught fire, spread to the curtains, and then..." You couldn't take it anymore. Anger, fear, and pain burst out: — How could you?! You knew better than to play with fire! You could have died! You could have burned your neighbors to death! Do you even understand what you've done?! Bill sobbed:

• Mom, we didn't mean to... “You didn’t want to?!” You clenched your fists. “What were you even thinking? That this was a game? That you could risk lives for some stupid prank?!” Tom pressed his lips together, but couldn't help himself:
• I'm sorry, mom.. "Sorry?!" You sighed, trying to pull yourself together. "Sorry—that's not enough."