Vincent POV
The evening had settled into a cool rhythm since we got home. Myra had finished tidying the living room. She loved to keep her hands busy when something was on her mind. I watched her from the kitchen doorway, noticing the faint shadow beneath her eyes. Dinner was ready, but she seemed distracted, picking at her food.
“Daddy, can we call them?” Myra asked suddenly, her voice tentative but insistent.
I raised an eyebrow. “Call who?”
“The twins… Auntie said we could talk. Please,” she pleaded. Her small hands twisted the edge of the napkin.
I nodded, recognizing the urgency in her tone. These children, innocent and unfairly accused, had become a part of her world, and she needed reassurance. I handed her the phone.
Myra held the phone tightly, her small fingers trembling sl
