Ethan stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame for support.

I approached the first crib.

I looked down at the little girl.

I didn’t pick her up.

Instead, I leaned close to the wooden slats.

“Claire,” I whispered.

The baby’s crying paused for a fraction of a second.

“Claire is here,” I murmured, my voice barely louder than a breath. “Claire loves you.”

I moved to the second crib and repeated the name.

“Claire is watching.”

I did the same for the third and the fourth.

With each mention of the name, the room grew quieter.

One by one, the wails subsided into soft, ragged whimpers.

Then, complete silence.

The only sound left was the steady patter of rain against the glass.

I stood up and turned around.

Ethan was staring at me, his mouth slightly open.

He took two slow steps into the room, looking at the sleeping infants.

“How did you do that?” he whispered, his voice trembling.

“They just wanted to hear her name,” I said.

“They are too young to understand words,” he said, shaking his head. “They are only four months old.”

“They know,” I said. “They remember the sound of it. They feel her in it.”

He looked at me as if he were seeing me for the first time.

I was just the night cleaner who emptied his trash cans and wiped his counters.

“Who are you, Grace?” he asked.

His eyes searched my face, looking for something he couldn’t quite define.

Before I could answer, his phone buzzed in his pocket.

He pulled it out.

The screen lit up with the name *Daniel Pierce*.

Ethan answered it quickly, putting it to his ear.

“Daniel? Yes, they’re quiet now.”

There was a pause as Ethan listened to the voice on the other end.

His eyes locked onto mine, and his expression suddenly hardened.