Instead, the triplets moved instinctively—standing in front of Hannah, small arms lifting as if to protect her.
The sight crushed him.
The children everyone claimed couldn’t recognize attachment had chosen someone to defend.
Matthew dropped to his knees, his suit soaking into the grass.
“How long?” he asked, his voice rough.
Hannah hesitated.
“How long… what, sir?”
“How long have they been like this?” Matthew pressed. “They told me they couldn’t connect. That they didn’t laugh.”
Hannah looked at the girls, tenderness overtaking her fear.
“Always. Since the day I arrived—six months ago. They aren’t impaired. They’re lonely. And… they’re scared.”
“Scared of what?”
She swallowed.
“Not what. Who.”
Fragments snapped together in Matthew’s mind—unexplained bruises on tiny arms, crying that stopped the moment Claire entered the room. The constant insistence on stronger sedation. Claire’s hands placed on the girls’ shoulders during appointments—too controlled, too deliberate.
“Show me,” Matthew said quietly. “Please.”
Hannah removed her gloves and smiled gently.
“Alright, ladies. The airplane is ready for takeoff.”
She hummed softly and opened her arms.