It happened on an ordinary afternoon.
Which, in hindsight, was exactly why it destroyed him.
The condo was bathed in late-afternoon light, the sun casting warm patterns across the living room floor. Marnie sat on the mat with the twins, surrounded by soft toys, picture books, and tiny blocks that had been stacked and knocked over countless times already.
Michael sat nearby, pretending to read a medical journal.
Pretending being the key word.
In reality, his eyes flicked up every few seconds, tracking every movement, every wobble, every sound the twins made. He had learned to appear calmer over the past weeks, but his vigilance never truly slept.
Marnie noticed, of course. She always did.
“You can stop pretending,” she teased gently without looking up. “They know when you’re watching
