Several cameras flashed, catching the exact moment a detective stepped behind Richard and pulled his hands behind his back.

The metallic click of the handcuffs sounded incredibly loud in the cavernous room.

Eleanor gasped, taking a step backward toward the edge of the stage.

“Don’t touch me,” she hissed as a female officer approached her with a pair of silver cuffs.

“Ethan, tell these people who we are,” Eleanor demanded, her eyes wide with a mixture of rage and panic.

Ethan did not look at her.

He was staring at his own phone now, his thumb flying across the screen as he tried to contact the NICU security desk.

“Answer,” Ethan muttered under his breath, his face pale.

“Why isn’t anyone answering at the south desk?”

I looked back at the large screen behind the stage, where the blacked-out video feed of our twins’ nursery remained blank.

The emptiness of that screen felt like a physical weight pressing down on my chest.

“Ethan, the text said to stop the feed,” I whispered, my voice cracking.

“The feed is already gone,” he said, turning his head to look at me.