Page 274 of Triplet Babies for my Ex's Best Friend

“She’s yours.”

“Rude.”

Then another cry comes.

Baby B.

A boy.

Then Baby C.

Another girl.

Three cries. Three lives. Three impossible miracles filling a room that once held every fear I had left.

I lose any remaining illusion of control.

I cry openly.

Addy sees it and starts crying harder. “Oh, Ethan.”

“I’m fine.”

“You aren’t fine.”

“No.”

A nurse places the first baby against Addy’s chest. Then the second. Then the third, carefully, gently, with help and wires and blankets and practiced hands.

They are tiny. Too tiny. Perfect.

Addy looks down at them as if her whole soul has left her body and returned multiplied.

I stand beside her, one hand cupping the back of her head, the other touching the smallest foot I have ever seen.

“They’re okay?” Addy asks.

Dr. Hernandez smiles. “They’re early, but they’re strong. NICU team will monitor them closely, but they’re doing beautifully.”

Strong.

The word hits me straight in the chest.

Addy looks up at me. “Names.”

I nod, though my throat barely works.

We argued about names for months.

Addy vetoed anything “too billionaire.” Luci suggested names exclusively based on pop stars and Greek disasters. Oliver wanted to name one of them Jetpack. I almost considered it, which Addy said was proof I needed sleep.

But in the end, we knew.

I brush my thumb over our first daughter’s blanket. “Ava Lucille Strong.”

Addy smiles through tears. “For Luci.”

“She’ll be unbearable.”