Page 255 of Triplet Babies for my Ex's Best Friend

There’s also an enormous arrangement of pale peonies beside a handwritten card.

My throat tightens immediately.

“What…” Luci blinks slowly. “Did Batman get someone pregnant?”

I laugh before I can stop myself.

The woman in scrubs looks up with a warm smile. “Ms. Clarke?”

Oh no.

Professional women smiling gently at me is my emotional weakness today.

“That depends,” I say carefully. “Are you here to medically supervise my breakdown?”

Her smile widens slightly. “I’m Claire. Maternal Fetal Medicine Nurse Coordinator. Dr. Hernandez asked me to come by before your consultation tomorrow.”

I stare at her. My brain briefly leaves my body. “Tomorrow?”

“Yes.” She gestures politely toward the dining table. The table, which now contains folders, printed schedules, care plans, nutritional guides, appointment outlines, emergency contactsheets, and what looks suspiciously like a color-coded pregnancy binder.

I turn slowly toward Luci.

She looks delighted. “Oh wow. He’s panic planning.”

“He’s what?”

“He’s rich man spiraling. This is what happens when emotionally unavailable billionaires fall in love. They start assembling medical Avengers.”

“I hate that sentence.”

“It’s accurate, though.”

Claire steps forward carefully, clearly experienced in handling overwhelmed pregnant women and possibly hostage negotiators. “Mr. Strong requested a full high-risk support structure,” she explains gently. “Entirely optional, of course. Nothing proceeds without your consent.”

My eyes drift across the table again.

There’s a highlighted schedule labeled:MULTIFETAL PREGNANCY CARE PLAN, NUTRITIONAL SUPPORT – FIRST TRIMESTER, HOME HEALTH OPTIONS, EMERGENCY RESPONSE PROTOCOLS,andNICU AFFILIATIONS.

My knees almost give out.

Luci catches my elbow. “Easy, fertile queen.”

“I’m going to throw a prenatal vitamin at you.”

“You’re too tired to aim.”

Then I notice the kitchen.

My mouth falls open slightly. Someone has stocked it. Specifically for me. The sourdough bread I like, the yogurt brand I mentioned once, fresh fruit, the stupid expensive orange juice Ethan caught me staring at in Whole Foods three weeks ago before I quietly put it back because twenty dollars for juice feels morally suspicious, ginger tea, saltines, and even the coconut popsicles I said tasted “like emotional support in frozen form.”

My chest aches.

“Oh no,” Luci whispers beside me.

“What?”

“You’re doing the face.”