The moment he heard that familiar voice, Kafka froze. He didn't need to turn to know who it belonged to.
Slowly, he pivoted—and there she was.
Abigaille.
Her eyes were half-open, hazy but warm, fluttering as if she were fighting to stay awake.
A wide, emotional smile spread across his face as he rushed to her bedside.
"Mom...you're awake!" He whispered excitedly, crouching beside her. "How are you? Are you alright?"
"Mhm...I think so. Just...tired…" She blinked slowly, her voice gentle but weak.
"That's wonderful. But look, look." Kafka said, his grin widening as he held up the two tiny bundles in his arms. "Look at them—our daughters. Aren't they perfect?" His eyes sparkled as he brought them closer. "They're so cute, so small...They look just like you."
Abigaille gave a weak, sleepy laugh, lifting her trembling hand to gently caress the tiny heads of her daughters.
"Really?" She murmured softly. "I think they look more like you, Kafi."
Kafka blinked, surprised.
