Page 63 of Triplet Babies for my Ex's Best Friend

I close the door behind me and stand still for half a second, listening.

The laughter is coming from the hallway near his room. Addy’s voice follows, lower, warm with mock severity.

“No, sir. If you think I’m reading the plane bookandthe dinosaur one, you’ve gravely misunderstood how bedtime negotiations work.”

Oliver says something I don’t catch. Addy laughs softly.

I set my keys down and move toward the sound without announcing myself.

From the doorway of Oliver’s room, I can see enough.

Oliver is already in bed, hair still damp from what was likely a bath he didn't request. He’s propped against his pillows with one of his blankets twisted around his legs. Addy sits on the edge of the mattress beside him, the dinosaur book open in her lap, though from the look on her face, she’s already lost the argument she was trying to win.

Captain is sprawled across the rug very comfortably.

Neither of them sees me at first.

Addy turns a page and says, in the most solemn narration imaginable, “And then, tragically, the T Rex made a series of poor personal choices and was no longer invited to herbivore brunch.”

Oliver laughs again.

I remain where I am, one hand resting lightly against the doorframe.

There’s nothing remarkable about the scene in a broader sense. A nanny reading to a child, a dog asleep on the floor,a warm lamp lit against the darkening city outside. Ordinary domesticity.

And yet there’s a distinct disorientation in seeing it in my home with that particular voice filling the spaces between the furniture.

Addy glances up as she closes the book.

Her gaze lands on me and pauses.

“Hi,” she says quietly.

Oliver turns immediately. “Dad.”

I cross into the room. “You’re supposed to be asleep.”

“I’m trying,” he says with the grave patience of someone who feels the process is already underway.

Addy closes the book fully and sets it on the bedside table. “For the record, he attempted to leverage his own charm against bedtime and was moderately successful.”

Oliver looks pleased with himself.

Addy rises from the bed with more care than is strictly necessary, as though suddenly conscious of the smallness of the room and my presence in it. “He had dinner, a bath, one and a half stories, and a detailed discussion about whether planes would get lonely if nobody flew them.”

I look at Oliver. “And?”

“They would,” he says firmly.

“Of course.”

Captain lifts his head, sees me, and thumps his tail once before deciding he's far too settled to commit to full mobility.

I move to the bed and smooth a hand over Oliver’s hair. “Lights out, buddy.”

He nods. “Okay.”

I glance at Addy. “Thank you.”