Ava studied the infants. Their tiny faces were pale, their lips trembling. And their eyes…
Hazel. Light brown. The exact rare color Michael had.
Her breath caught.
“What are their names?” she asked.
“Lily and Luna,” he said softly. “They’re my sisters.”
“And your parents?”
“My mom died when they were born. I… I take care of them.”
A twelve-year-old, raising twins in the street.
Ava felt something crack open in her chest. “Get in the car,” she said.
Toby stiffened. “Please, not the police.”
“No police,” Ava said gently. “You’re coming to my home.”
A Stranger Inside the Mansion
Her staff stared as she carried the babies inside, soaking wet. Toby hovered by the door as if afraid to touch anything.
A private doctor arrived within minutes.
“They’re severely dehydrated and malnourished,” he reported. “And cold. Very cold. But they’ll recover.”
Toby exhaled shakily.
Ava watched him—how he fed the babies carefully, how he warmed their tiny hands with his own, how he whispered to them like a parent.
A strange feeling settled in her gut.
“Toby,” she said quietly, “who was your father?”
He hesitated. “Mom said he was important. Busy. He visited when he could. He had… hazel eyes.”
Ava froze.