As the elevator descended, Ethan looked down at his hands, which were covered in light scratches from his surgical gloves.

“I’m done with all of it, Hannah,” he said quietly, his voice barely audible over the hum of the elevator motor.

“The board, the money, the Harrison name.”

I looked up at him, seeing the exhaustion etched deep into the lines around his eyes.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“As soon as we find them, I’m signing the birth certificates,” Ethan said.

“I don’t care about the inheritance.”

“They will strip you of everything, Ethan,” I said.

“Let them,” Ethan said, looking directly into my eyes.

“I want a life with you and the babies, even if it means we start with nothing in a tiny apartment.”

“I don’t need a mansion, Ethan,” I said, a tear slipping down my cheek.

“I just want our children safe.”

The elevator jolted to a stop, and the doors slid open to reveal the dimly lit basement corridor.

The air down here smelled of damp concrete, bleach, and old copper pipes.