The nanny sat in the armchair nearby, reading under the soft glow of a lamp, her movements careful, quiet, respectful of the fragile calm.
Zayn remained in the doorway longer than he intended.
Two sons.
Even now, the reality had a surreal quality. They were real. They were his. They were Lena’s. They were a living bond that neither circumstance nor fear could undo.
His chest tightened — not with anxiety this time, but with something heavier… fuller.
Gratitude.
Responsibility.
And a deep, protective tenderness he had never imagined himself capable of.
He gave a small nod to the nanny, who acknowledged him with a gentle smile, then quietly withdrew from the room, leaving the boys to their dreams.
The hallway beyond felt dimmer somehow.
Quieter.
He moved toward the living room almo
