The call came just after sunset, when the house had settled into that fragile quiet that always followed the twins’ evening feeding — the kind of quiet that never truly felt peaceful, only paused, as if life itself were holding its breath.
Lena sat on the couch with one of the babies curled against her chest, his tiny fingers wrapped instinctively in the fabric of her blouse, while the other slept in the bassinet beside her, his soft breathing the only steady rhythm in a world that had felt uncertain for far too long.
She had learned to exist in this suspended state — waiting for footsteps, waiting for news, waiting for the next ripple of fear.
So when her phone rang, sharp and sudden against the stillness, her heart reacted before her mind could — leaping, tightening, bracing.
Lana lo
