The fluorescent lights of the maternity ward hummed quietly, buzzing against the sterile scent of antiseptic. Claire lay propped up against two oversized white pillows, her breathing heavy as her chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm. Resting against her chest were two tiny, pink-cheeked infants—newborn twins wrapped tightly in pastel hospital blankets. Her fingers gently brushed against the soft lint of their knitted beanies, her heart swelling with an exhausting, overwhelming warmth.

Claire: "We actually made it, Mark. Look at them. They're so peaceful."

Mark: "They're perfect, honey. Absolutely perfect."

Suddenly, the heavy wooden door of the private room burst open with a sharp bang. A flurry of tiny running shoes squeaked wildly against the polished floorboards. Four-year-old Liam rushed straight toward the side of the hospital bed, his brown curls bouncing frantically as tears brimmed in his widened eyes. Right behind him, three identical little boys in matching blue striped shirts followed closely, their faces dead serious as they crowded near the doorway.

Liam: "NO, PLEASE! STOP!"

Claire: "Liam? Baby, what's wrong? Why are you shouting?"

Liam: "You can't keep them! You have to stop right now!"

Mark: "Hey, buddy, calm down. What are you talking about? These are your new baby sisters."

The four identical toddlers stepped forward in unison, locking arms in a tight, impenetrable line along the edge of the bed frame. They stared intensely at the tiny sleeping babies, their small eyebrows furrowing together in utter, stoic earnestness. Then, altogether, their high-pitched voices echoed across the silent room in a chilling, rhythmic chant.

Toddlers: "ONE, TWO! ONE, TWO!"

Claire: "Oh my goodness, are you boys counting them?"

A sudden burst of loud, unrestrained laughter escaped Claire's chest, shaking her entire body as she clutched the infants tighter. She leaned her head back against the pillow, wiping a tear of amusement from her eye. The toddlers didn't laugh back; their eyes remained completely fixated on the babies, their tiny arms crossed tightly over their chests. But as Mark stepped closer to pat Liam on the shoulder, he noticed something strange tucked inside Liam's tiny jacket pocket—a heavy, folded legal document stamped with a red wax seal that had vanished from their home safe three days ago.

Mark: "Liam... where did you get that envelope?"

Liam: "The stranger at the park gave it to us. He said when the numbers match, Mommy goes away."