Separated by glass, a father could only gaze at his newborn twins, longing to hold them as he whispered his wish. When a guard quietly opened the door, that single act reshaped not just the moment, but everything that followed.

There was a soft click.

Then another.

And then something I hadn’t expected to hear at all.

The sound of the lock disengaging.

For a second, I didn’t move, not because I didn’t understand what had happened, but because I didn’t trust it, because the shift from “not allowed” to “go ahead” felt too sudden, too fragile, like it might be taken back if I moved too quickly.