The rain had started sometime after noon.
It wasn’t loud or violent—just a steady, persistent drizzle that painted the windows of the condo in streaks of silver. The city below looked muted, softened by the weather, as if the world itself had decided to slow down.
Marnie sat curled on the couch, a soft blanket draped over her legs, one hand resting absentmindedly on her belly. The twins had been unusually quiet that afternoon, which both comforted and unsettled her. She had learned that silence could mean they were simply sleeping—or plotting their next round of chaos.
Michael stood by the window, arms crossed, staring out into the rain.
He had been quiet all day.
Not the calm, composed quiet she was used to, but something heavier. Something restrained.
She noticed it in the way his
