“The temperature in this tunnel is too low for them.”

The lead officer walked over, looking at the babies and then at Ethan.

“Are they alright, doctor?” the officer asked.

“They will be,” Ethan said, his eyes never leaving the twins.

“But we have to move now.”

We pushed the heavy incubator back through the tunnel, the police officers guiding us through the dark corridors.

By the time we reached the elevator, the adrenaline was beginning to fade, leaving me weak and shaking.

I leaned against Ethan’s shoulder, and he wrapped his arm around my waist, holding me tight.

“It’s over, Hannah,” he whispered into my hair.

“They can’t touch us anymore.”

The elevator took us back up to the third floor, where the NICU staff was waiting for us with warm blankets and monitoring equipment.

As the nurses wheeled the twins back into their sterile room, Ethan turned to the head administrator who was standing nearby.

“Get me the paternity forms,” Ethan said, his voice firm and clear.

“And call the hospital’s legal counsel.”

“Doctor, the board is still meeting about your father’s arrest,” the administrator said, looking anxious.