Elena shut her eyes. Her mother was seventy, worn down since Elena’s sister had died months earlier, leaving behind twin toddlers who barely understood loss.
“Are you in pain? Should I come get you?” Elena asked.
“No… I’m just exhausted. I’m afraid I’ll drop them. I’m sorry.”
Elena looked around the spotless kitchen, the quiet luxury that wasn’t hers. She thought of the twins’ small hands, of her sister’s voice saying, “If anything happens to me, promise you’ll protect them.”
“Don’t apologize,” Elena said. “I’m coming. I’ll bring them back with me tonight. We’ll figure it out tomorrow.”
There was a pause filled with relief.
“Where will you take them?”
“With me. They’ll be safe.”
She hung up, knowing she was breaking rules Michael Reynolds never bent. But those children weren’t guests. They were family.
An hour later, she returned with the twins. One slept against her shoulder; the other clung to her shirt. She entered the mansion quietly, as if stepping into sacred ground.
“Shh… we’re okay,” she whispered.
She settled them in the kitchen, started coffee, and cleaned to calm her nerves. Michael had said he’d be late. She hoped she had time.
But fate never waits.