The hallway didn’t move.
People did—but the air itself felt stuck, like it was holding its breath.
No one laughed anymore.
No one made jokes about “family genes” or “strong bloodlines.”
They just stared.
At the babies.
At each other.
At me.
I pushed myself up on my elbows, ignoring the sharp pull in my body. “Caleb…” My voice came out thin. “Why do they look like that?”
He didn’t answer.
He wasn’t even looking at me.
He was staring down at the bassinets like the floor had disappeared beneath him.
“Caleb,” I said again, louder this time.
Still nothing.
