“She’s just a baby, isn’t she?” I murmured, my gaze fixed on the empty corridor where they’d wheeled her away.

The evening had taken on a surreal quality. Mum and Rafayel’s mother had departed once their carefully planned surprise had crumbled into chaos, leaving behind only the antiseptic smell of the hospital and an uncomfortable silence.

Harry and Bianca remained, perhaps sensing we needed the moral support, whilst Xavier sat contentedly spooning ice cream from a paper cup—blissfully unaware of the darkness we’d just witnessed.

“Barely five years old,” Rafayel confirmed, his voice hollow.

I crossed my arms tightly across my chest, as if I could somehow shield myself from...