Page 267 of Triplet Babies for my Ex's Best Friend

“I’m not convinced Captain knows what aviation is.”

“He believes in bedlam. That’s adjacent.”

A small smile finally appears.

The rest of the day feels strange.

Too quiet emotionally for how loud everything actually is.

Phones ring constantly.

Sara calls twice.

Jeffrey once.

Federal investigators apparently want statements, timelines, and enough documentation to drown a small country.

Ethan handles all of it with terrifying calm while I sit on the couch trying not to spiral every time the news updates.

Bryce arrested.

Bryce charged.

Bryce connected to Megan’s crash.

Every headline feels unreal. Because Bryce was awful, yes. Selfish, cruel, emotionally allergic to accountability. But this is monstrous.

I keep thinking about Milwaukee Airport.

About him standing there telling me I was “too much.”

Meanwhile, he was carrying around corporate sabotage and involuntary manslaughter like a psychotic emotional support hobby.

Men truly have the audacity.

By evening, the penthouse finally quiets.

The city outside shines gold and blue beneath the darkening sky.

Oliver insists on pizza and “movie night” because, apparently, a national scandal builds appetite.

So Ethan orders enough food to feed an army while I help Oliver build a blanket fort in the living room.

I supervise.

Mostly because every time I bend over too fast now, my body files a formal complaint.

“Sunshine,” Oliver says seriously from inside the fort, “you have to crawl.”

“I physically can’t crawl anymore.”

“Yes, you can.”

“I’m carrying your future basketball team.”

“You can still crawl a little.”

Rude.