The crying didn’t stop right away—but it softened.
She pulled a handkerchief from her pocket, gently wiped their faces, then sat cross-legged on the road, letting them lean against her.
She looked around, worried—not angry, not accusing—just genuinely concerned.
“Where is your grown-up?” she murmured.
No one answered.
So she stayed.
Elena began humming a tune, low and steady. Then she used her fingers to make little shapes in the dirt—circles, stars, funny faces.
One twin hiccupped.
The other sniffed.
Then—laughter.
A small giggle.
Julian felt his breath catch.
The twins laughed again, louder this time.
Something inside him cracked.
He stepped out from behind the tree.
Elena noticed immediately.
Her body shifted—subtly, instinctively—placing herself between the twins and the approaching man.
“Can I help you?” she asked cautiously.
“I’m their father,” Julian said.
Her eyes widened—not with relief, but disbelief.
“Then why,” she said slowly, standing up, “were your children sitting alone on a dirt road crying while your staff walked past them?”
Julian opened his mouth.
Paused.
“I was testing—”
“Testing?” Elena’s voice trembled with controlled anger. “They’re not equipment. They’re babies.”