Page 238 of Triplet Babies for my Ex's Best Friend

Brilliant opener, Addy. Very emotionally nuanced.

His hand stills on the clasp. “I have to go in.”

“Oh.”

That little word again.

My least favorite word.

“There’s food in the kitchen,” he says. “I had groceries delivered early. Crackers, ginger tea, fruit, toast, protein options?—”

“Ethan.”

He stops.

I hate the silence that follows.

Because I know he’s trying.

I do.

He’s trying to care in the language he speaks best: logistics, provisions, systems, contingencies.

But he’s also leaving.

Again.

And that shouldn’t feel like abandonment. It isn’t abandonment. It’s work. It’s a crisis. It’s the company and Bryce and whatever terrifying plane computer backdoor thing he told me about yesterday.

Still, my heart doesn’t care about context.

My heart's a melodramatic idiot, apparently.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“I know.”

Luci suggests the café the moment her and Oliver wake up. It’s like she can tell I need air. Oliver cheers like we’ve announced a theme park.

So we go to Brewed Awakening again. Because apparently Sophie’s café is now my emotional emergency bunker.

Chicago is bright and cold, the wind slipping between buildings and cutting straight through my cardigan. Oliver walks between us, holding both our hands and swinging slightly.

The walk helps.

A little.

The city doesn’t care that I’m pregnant. It doesn’t care that Ethan left for work or that Bryce might be some kind of aviation tech goblin villain. It just moves around us, loud and alive and indifferent.

There’s comfort in that.

At Brewed Awakening, Sophie takes one look at us and points to our usual table.

“No one's allowed to have a crisis today,” she says. “I’m emotionally booked.”

“Too late,” Luci says. “We brought one with legs.”

“I'm not a crisis,” I say.