[Adrian’s POV]

The next morning arrives soft and gray, clouds filtering the light into something gentle.

I wake before the others—unusual for me, usually the last to surface—and lie still for a moment, taking inventory. Sophie is curled against Cassian’s chest, her hair a wild tangle across the pillow. Cassian’s arm wraps around her waist, protective even in sleep. My own body is pressed against her back, close enough that I can feel each breath she takes.

This is real. This is happening. This is my life now.

The thought should terrify me. A few months ago, it would have. The old Adrian—the one who needed control, who needed certainty, who needed to know exactly where he stood at every moment—would have been climbing the walls by now. The ambiguity alone would have driven him mad.

But the old Adrian also almost lost the woman he loved because he couldn’t stop trying to manage her into safety.

I slide out of bed carefully, trying not to disturb the tangle of limbs. Sophie murmurs something in her sleep but doesn’t wake. Cassian’s arm tightens around her briefly, then relaxes.

The kitchen is quiet, the apartment still wrapped in early-morning hush. I start coffee on autopilot, my mind wandering through the landscape of what comes next.

The baby will arrive in approximately seven months. Between now and then, we need to figure out housing—Sophie’s one-bedroom won’t work long-term. We need to figure out legal arrangements—custody, decision-making authority, what happens if something happens to any of us. We need to have conversations we’ve been avoiding about money and careers and who sacrifices what for this new life we’re creating.

The list is endless. The variables are countless.

And somehow, that doesn’t feel as overwhelming as it should.

I pour my coffee and carry it to the window, watching the city wake up below. A woman walks a very small dog. A delivery truck double-parks, flashers blinking. A couple emerges from the building across the street, arguing about something I can’t hear, their gestures animated.

Normal life. Ordinary life. The kind of life I always thought I wanted but never quite knew how to build.

“You’re brooding.”

Sophie’s voice makes me turn. She’s standing in the doorway wrapped in one of my shirts, her legs bare, her hair a disaster. She’s never looked more beautiful.

“I’m contemplating,” I correct. “There’s a difference.”

“Mm.” She pads across the kitchen and takes my coffee cup, stealing a sip despite the fact that she’s supposed to be limiting caffeine. “Contemplating what?”

“Everything. Nothing.” I pull her close, breathing in the scent of her—sleep and sex and something underneath that’s just essentially Sophie. “The future.”

“That’s very vague.”

“The future is vague. That’s kind of the point.”

She looks up at me, her expression soft. “Are you scared?”

“Yes.” There’s no point in lying. “I’m terrified. Of doing this wrong. Of not being enough. Of letting you down.”

“Join the club.” She settles against my chest, her arms wrapping around my waist. “I’ve been scared since the moment I saw the positive test. Scared I couldn’t do it alone, scared I couldn’t do it at all, scared that whatever I chose would be the wrong choice.”

“And now?”

“Now I’m still scared. But I’m also…” She searches for the word. “Hopeful? For the first time in a long time, I can imagine a future that isn’t a disaster waiting to happen. That feels significant.”

I tighten my arms around her. “I want to give you that future. The good one. The one where things actually work out.”

“You’re already giving it to me.” She tilts her head back to meet my eyes. “Every day you show up. Every time you let me be difficult without running away. Every moment you choose this—choose us—even when it’s complicated.”

“It’s very complicated.”

“The best things usually are.”

Cassian’s voice drifts from the bedroom, sleep-rough and slightly irritated. “You took the only competent coffee maker and left me to fend for myself.”

Sophie laughs against my chest. “There’s instant in the cabinet.”

“Instant is an insult to coffee everywhere.”

“Then come make proper coffee and stop complaining.”

He appears a moment later, wearing only sweatpants, his hair sticking up at improbable angles. The sight of him—disheveled and grumpy and undeniably present—does something strange to my chest. Something that might be affection, if I let myself examine it too closely.

“Family meeting in the kitchen,” he mutters, reaching past Sophie to start a fresh pot of coffee. “Very domestic.”

“We’re a very domestic bunch,” Sophie agrees.

“We’re a mess,” I counter.

“We can be both.”

Cassian pours his coffee, black and bitter the way he likes it, and leans against the counter. In the gray morning light, with Sophie tucked against my side and Cassian standing close enough to touch, the apartment feels full in a way it hasn’t since we arrived.

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