Page 268 of Triplet Babies for my Ex's Best Friend

Ethan walks in carrying pizza boxes and stops.

His expression softens instantly.

I’m sitting cross-legged on the floor surrounded by blankets while Oliver aggressively explains fort engineering principles and Captain lies in the middle like an unemployed security guard.

Warmth flickers across Ethan’s face.

We eat pizza inside the fort while Oliver explains an extremely complicated game involving runway emergencies, stuffed animals, and what I think is a dinosaur acting as air traffic control.

At one point, Ethan laughs. Really laughs. It catches me so off guard that I just stare at him.

Oliver yawns loudly before either of us can ruin our emotional stability completely. “I’m sleepy.”

“No kidding,” Ethan murmurs.

“You said no kidding is old people language.”

“It is.”

“You’re old.”

I choke.

Ethan looks deeply offended. “I’m forty-two.”

“Ancient,” Oliver says solemnly.

“Traitor.”

I’m laughing so hard I snort. Pregnancy has robbed me of dignity in increasingly creative ways.

Ethan looks over at me with such helpless affection that my stomach flips.

Eventually, we get Oliver bathed, pajamaed, and into bed after exactly fourteen negotiations, two stories, and one deeply emotional discussion about whether astronauts could take dinosaurs to space.

“Goodnight, buddy,” I whisper, kissing his forehead.

Oliver wraps his arms around my neck suddenly. “Love you, Sunshine.”

My heart physically squeezes. “I love you too.”

His sleepy little face brightens. “Forever?”

I glance toward Ethan standing in the doorway. His expression wrecks me quietly.

“Forever,” I whisper.

Oliver falls asleep clutching his stuffed airplane.

Ethan closes Oliver’s bedroom door gently, then leans against the wall beside it like his body suddenly weighs too much.

I stand there watching him. This beautiful, exhausted man carrying grief and guilt and relief all at once.

“You okay?” I ask softly.

“No.”

Honest.