The rain tapped against the windowpane, a steady, rhythmic sound that filled the quiet room.

Lucas shifted on the cot, sitting up and rubbing his eyes with his small fists.

“Claire?” he mumbled, his voice small and sleepy.

“I’m here, sweetie,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady.

He crawled off the cot and walked over to my bed, his small feet bare on the cold linoleum.

He climbed up beside me, tucking his head under my chin.

“You smell like the hospital,” he murmured.

“I’m sorry, baby,” I whispered, holding him tight.

“I’ll be okay.”

Owen woke up next, following his brother’s path to crawl onto the other side of my bed.

Holding them both in my arms, I felt a strange sense of peace, even in the middle of the storm.

They were my children.

No matter what the papers said, they knew my touch.

My phone, lying on the bedside table, suddenly buzzed.

The screen lit up with an unknown number.

I reached out with a trembling hand and picked it up.

I pressed it to my ear.

“Sarah?”