“What’s that noise?”
“Movers.”
His smile disappeared.
“What are you doing?”
“Taking care of what you left behind.”
“Stop them.”
“No.”
“I’m serious, Shannon.”
“So am I.”
Then I ended the call.
By evening, the old house still had dusty windows and a stubborn front door, but the babies’ cribs were ready.
For the first time in months, I could breathe.
PART 3: WHAT HE CAME HOME TO
Five days later, Ryan returned from the beach.
My mother stayed with the triplets at the old house while Shaun remained nearby.
I waited alone in the kitchen Ryan and I had once shared. My wedding ring sat beside a folder containing the first legal documents.
Ryan entered while recording himself on his phone.
“Back to real life,” he announced cheerfully.
Then he noticed the silence.
No bottles beside the sink.
No blankets on the couch.
No baby swing humming in the corner.
The three high chairs were gone.
His smile vanished.
“Where are the babies?”
“They’re safe.”
