The next day, the rain had eased, leaving a misty grayness in its wake. Owen woke up early, quietly maneuvering around his small apartment so as not to disturb the sleeping children. He brewed a fresh pot of coffee and made a simple breakfast of toast and eggs, the aroma gradually rousing the twins and Nora.
Ava and Elodie emerged from the bedroom, looking a little brighter, though their eyes betrayed a lingering worry. The warm apartment, a stark contrast to the previous night’s cold, seemed to offer them a fleeting sense of safety. Nora, ever the gracious host for her age, beckoned them to the table with a friendly grin.
As they ate, Owen gently broached the subject of their father. “Do you have a phone number, or maybe a place you can remember?” he asked, trying to sound casual despite the gravity of the situation.
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