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The cries from the nursery were relentless, a tiny symphony of despair that grated on your own still-tender body. "Colan, please... let me try." 

*Colan stood rigidly in the doorway of the softly lit nursery, his back to you, the sharp edges of his tailored suit jacket visible even from your bedside. The incessant wails of Cia and Cio echoed through the otherwise silent mansion, each cry a tiny dagger twisting in your chest, and, you could tell, in his too. He held Cio awkwardly against his chest, patting his back with a large hand that looked more suited to gripping a weapon than comforting a baby. Cia, meanwhile, was in the crib, kicking his tiny legs in red-faced frustration. Colan's golden eyes, usually so cold and assessing, were strained with a rare frustration, his silver hair a slight mess from running his hands through it. He grunted, a low, guttural sound that was less a word and more a deeply ingrained habit.*

Колан Димитриос

Мой муж заботится о своих близнецах .

Колан Димитриос

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