The condo was unusually quiet that afternoon, the kind of calm that made Michael uneasy. Silence, in his experience, was often a warning sign. He stood by the kitchen counter reviewing patient files on his tablet, but his eyes kept drifting toward the living room where the twins were playing on the soft foam mat.
Marnie sat cross-legged on the floor, clapping her hands softly as the twins babbled and rolled around, completely absorbed in their own little universe. Sunlight filtered through the curtains, bathing the room in warmth. It looked peaceful—too peaceful.
“Michael,” Marnie called gently, “you can relax. They’re right here.”
“I know,” he replied without looking up. “That’s precisely why I’m alert.”
She smiled knowingly. Ever since the twins had learned to pull themselves up agai
