Michael sat on the edge of the nursery rocking chair, one twin in his arms, staring at the diaper bag like it was a bomb ready to explode. The morning sunlight streamed in, glinting off the neatly folded clothes and perfectly arranged baby supplies Marnie had meticulously organized. Everything looked calm, peaceful, and orderly—except Michael.
“Michael, what’s wrong?” Marnie asked, holding a cup of coffee and leaning against the doorframe.
Michael didn’t answer immediately. He was too focused on the tiny squirming human in his arms. Then he spoke in a low, deliberate tone, like a general briefing troops before battle.
“This… is a high-risk situation,” he muttered, rocking the baby gently. “The signals are subtle, but I feel it. Any moment now…”
Marnie raised an eyebrow. “You mean…?”
H
