[Adrian’s POV]

I find out about Cassian’s 2 a.m. visit through a photo he sends me the next morning—Sophie curled against him on the couch, mouth slightly open, hair a disaster, looking more peaceful than I’ve seen her in weeks.

Cassian: She called. I came. She’s sleeping now.

I stare at the photo for a long moment, cataloging my feelings the way my therapist used to suggest before I stopped going. There’s jealousy, yes—a sharp pang of it, wishing I’d been the one she reached for in the dark. But underneath that, there’s something stronger. Something that surprises me.

Relief. Gratitude. Pride, even, that she called anyone at all.

Adrian: Good. She needs to learn she can ask for help.

Cassian: She’s getting there. Slowly.

Adrian: I’ll bring breakfast. Don’t let her wake up alone.

I stop at the bakery on Fifth—the one Sophie pretends not to love because the pastries are overpriced, but always lights up when I bring her something from their case. I get her favorite croissant, plus coffee for me and Cassian, plus a fruit cup because someone needs to make sure she’s eating things that aren’t pure carbohydrates.

When I arrive at her apartment, Cassian opens the door before I can knock. Sophie is still asleep on the couch, wrapped in a blanket that wasn’t there when I saw the photo, her face soft in the morning light filtering through the curtains.

“She woke up once around six,” Cassian says quietly, stepping aside to let me in. “Went right back down.”

“Good.” I set the food on the kitchen counter, keeping my voice low. “She needs the rest.”

We stand there for a moment, watching her sleep. It’s a strange intimacy—sharing this vigil with someone who should be my rival, someone I’ve spent months competing against for her attention. But the competition feels distant now. Irrelevant. Sophie almost disappeared from both of our lives. That kind of near-miss puts things in perspective.

“Thank you,” I say, the words awkward on my tongue. “For last night. For being there when she needed someone.”

Cassian’s expression shifts, surprise flickering across his features before settling into something warmer. “You would have done the same.”

“Yeah. But you were the one she called.”

“This time.” He shrugs slightly. “It won’t always be me. It won’t always be you. That’s the point, isn’t it? That she has options. That she’s not alone.”

The insight lands somewhere deep in my chest, rearranging things I didn’t realize needed rearranging.

I’ve been thinking about this all wrong. Competing with Cassian for Sophie’s heart, measuring every moment of affection like points on a scoreboard. But that’s not what she needs. What she needs is to know that no matter who she reaches for, someone will be there. That her support system isn’t contingent on choosing the right person at the right moment.

“We should talk about logistics,” I say, surprising myself. “How we’re going to handle this. Not just the next few days—the long term.”

Cassian raises an eyebrow. “I’m listening.”

I grab my coffee and lean against the counter, organizing my thoughts. “She’s going to need a lot of support as the pregnancy progresses. Appointments. Physical changes. Emotional volatility—I’ve been reading about the hormone fluctuations.”

“You’ve been reading about pregnancy hormones?”

“Don’t look so shocked. I’m capable of research.”

The corner of his mouth twitches. “Noted. Continue.”

“My point is, we need to coordinate. Not compete for who gets to be the most helpful. Actually divide responsibilities so she’s covered without being smothered.”

Cassian considers this, his expression thoughtful. “A schedule?”

“Something like that. You’re better at the calm, steady presence. I’m better at the practical stuff—cooking, cleaning, handling logistics when she’s too tired to think straight.” I pause, acknowledging the admission that comes next. “And she responds to us differently. Sometimes she needs gentleness. Sometimes she needs someone to push back, make her laugh, drag her out of her own head.”

“So we play to our strengths.”

“Exactly.”

“There’s a difference?”

“A subtle one. Coordinating means we’re trying to support you. Planning means we’re deciding things without you.”

She considers this, taking a bite of croissant. “And which one were you actually doing?”

Cassian and I exchange a glance.

“Maybe a little of both,” I admit. “But we’re trying to do better.”

Sophie’s expression softens, vulnerability flickering beneath the surface. “I know you are. I just…” She sets down the croissant, her appetite apparently fading. “I spent so long trying to manage everything myself. It’s hard to let go of that. Hard to trust that you won’t get tired of me.”

I sit beside her on the couch, taking her hand. “We’re not going anywhere.”

“You say that now. But the baby, and the complications, and the fact that we don’t even know—” She stops, the unspoken question hanging in the air.

Cassian moves to her other side, close enough to touch but not quite touching. “We know what matters. Everything else is just details.”

“Details matter,” she whispers.

“Not as much as you think.” I squeeze her hand. “Not as much as you.”

Her eyes fill with tears, and she laughs wetly at herself. “I’m going to be crying constantly, aren’t I? For the next seven months?”

“Probably,” Cassian says. “We’ll buy more tissues.”

She laughs again, stronger this time, and leans into me. I wrap my arm around her shoulders, and Cassian’s hand finds her knee, and we sit there in the morning light—three people learning how to be a family.