[Sophie’s POV]

“I want to go outside.”

The words come out more forcefully than I intend, cutting through the quiet of an afternoon that has stretched on too long. Adrian looks up from his laptop, eyebrows raised. Cassian pauses mid-stir at the stove, wooden spoon hovering over a pot of something that smells like garlic and rosemary.

“Outside?” Adrian repeats, like I’ve suggested we scale Everest.

“Yes. Outside. Where the sun is. Where people exist who aren’t the three of us circling each other in this apartment like worried satellites.”

Cassian and Adrian exchange a glance—that silent communication they’ve developed over the past few weeks, the one that used to make me feel left out and now just makes me want to throw things.

“You’re supposed to be resting,” Adrian says carefully.

“I’ve been resting for three weeks. I’ve rested so much I’ve forgotten what my legs are for.” I push myself up from the couch, ignoring the slight head rush that accompanies the movement. “I’m not suggesting a marathon. I just want to walk to the coffee shop on the corner. Sit at a table that isn’t in my living room. Remember that the world exists beyond these walls.”

“The doctor said—”

“The doctor said to avoid stress and get adequate rest. She didn’t say I had to become a hermit.” I can hear the edge creeping into my voice, the frustration that’s been building for days. “I’m pregnant, not terminally ill. Women have been doing this for thousands of years without being wrapped in bubble wrap.”

The silence that follows is heavy with concern I know comes from love but currently feels like suffocation.

Cassian turns off the stove and wipes his hands on a towel. “She’s right.”

Adrian’s head swivels toward him. “What?”

“She’s right. We’ve been treating her like she’s made of glass. It’s not helpful.” He crosses to where I’m standing, his expression thoughtful. “A walk to the coffee shop isn’t going to hurt anything. And if it helps her feel more like herself, that’s better for everyone.”

Adrian’s jaw works, clearly wrestling with his protective instincts. I watch him fight the urge to argue, to list all the ways something could go wrong, to wrap me in cotton wool and keep me safe from every possible danger.

“Fine,” he says finally, the word clipped but not unkind. “But I’m coming with you.”

“We both are,” Cassian adds.

“I don’t need an escort—”

“Humor us.” Adrian stands, closing his laptop with more force than necessary. “You want independence, you can have independence. But you’re also going to have company. That’s the compromise.”

I want to argue. I want to insist that I’m capable of walking two blocks without supervision, that their constant presence—however well-intentioned—is starting to make me feel like a prisoner instead of a partner.

But I also recognize that this is new for all of us. That they’re learning how to support without smothering, just like I’m learning how to accept help without feeling diminished. Growth is uncomfortable. Change is messy.

“Fine,” I echo Adrian’s earlier concession. “But you’re buying my decaf.”

The coffee shop is exactly as I remembered it—small, crowded, filled with the hum of conversation and the hiss of the espresso machine. The barista recognizes me and does a visible double-take, probably because I haven’t been in for weeks and look noticeably different than the last time she saw me.

“The usual?” she asks, her gaze flicking curiously between me and the two men flanking me like bodyguards.

“Decaf version. And whatever they want.”

We find a table by the window, and I sink into the chair with a satisfaction that probably seems excessive for such a small victory. But it doesn’t feel small. It feels like reclaiming something I’d lost—the simple ability to exist in the world as a person, not just a patient.

The afternoon light is warm on my face. Outside, people pass by in a steady stream—walking dogs, checking phones, living lives that have nothing to do with the chaos of mine. The normalcy of it is almost overwhelming.

“You’re smiling,” Cassian observes.

“I’m outside. Of course I’m smiling.”

Adrian sets my decaf in front of me, taking the seat across from mine. “We haven’t been that bad, have we?”

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