[Adrian’s POV]

The ultrasound appointment falls on a Thursday, bright and clear, the kind of autumn day that feels like a promise.

The sky stretches endlessly blue above the city, dotted with wispy clouds that drift lazily across the horizon. Leaves have begun their annual transformation, splashes of gold and amber appearing among the green, and the air carries that particular crispness that signals the changing of seasons. It feels significant somehow—this day, this moment, arriving wrapped in such beauty.

Sophie is nervous—I can tell from the way she keeps adjusting her shirt, smoothing invisible wrinkles, checking her phone for the time every thirty seconds. Her fingers tap restlessly against her thigh, and she’s chewing on her bottom lip in that way she does when her thoughts are spiraling faster than she can contain them. Cassian drives, his hands steady on the wheel, his expression calm in a way I know is deliberate. I’ve learned to recognize the difference between his genuine composure and the mask he wears when he’s managing his own anxiety.

“It’s going to be fine,” I say from the back seat.

“I know,” Sophie replies.

“You’re still nervous.”

“I can know something intellectually and still feel anxious about it. The two aren’t mutually exclusive.”

Fair point.

The clinic is familiar now—we’ve been here twice before, and the routine has become almost comfortable. Check in at the front desk, where the receptionist has stopped asking us to explain our relationship and simply hands over the clipboard with a knowing smile. Wait in chairs that are slightly too small, designed for single occupants rather than families who come in threes. Flip through magazines that are slightly too old, their covers featuring celebrities who’ve since had scandals or babies or both. Try not to stare at the other pregnant women and wonder about their stories.

The waiting room smells like hand sanitizer and hope, a combination that’s become oddly comforting in its familiarity.

When they call Sophie’s name, we all stand. The nurse doesn’t blink—we’re known quantities by now, the unusual trio who shows up together every time. Whatever she thinks of our arrangement, she keeps it behind her professional smile.

Dr. Patel greets us with her usual warmth, her dark eyes crinkling at the corners as she gestures for Sophie to settle on the examination table. She asks about Sophie’s symptoms and sleep and whether she’s been taking her vitamins. The small talk settles my nerves slightly, the medical professionalism reassuring in its ordinariness. There’s comfort in routine, in the mundane checklist of prenatal care that reminds us this is normal. Millions of women do this every year. Sophie is just one more.

“So,” Dr. Patel says, pulling on gloves and reaching for the ultrasound equipment. “Ready to find out who you’re having?”

Sophie nods, her hand finding mine on one side and Cassian’s on the other. Her grip is tight, her palm slightly damp with nervous sweat. I squeeze back, trying to communicate everything I can’t say—reassurance, love, the promise that whatever appears on that screen, we’ll face it together.

The gel is cold—Sophie flinches slightly—and then the screen flickers to life, the now-familiar gray shapes resolving into something recognizable. A head. A body. Arms and legs that have grown significantly since the last time we saw them. The image is clearer now, more defined, undeniably human in a way that makes my breath catch.

“There we go,” Dr. Patel murmurs, adjusting the wand. “Looking good. Heart rate is strong. Growth is on track.”

“And?” Sophie asks, her voice tight with anticipation.

Dr. Patel smiles, moving the wand slightly, angling for a better view. The image shifts on the screen, and I find myself leaning forward, as if proximity to the monitor might help me understand what she’s seeing.

“Congratulations,” she says. “You’re having a girl.”

A girl.

The word echoes through me, settling into my bones. It feels different than I expected—not just information, but transformation. Something fundamental shifting in my understanding of who I am, who I’m becoming.

A daughter.

Sophie makes a sound that might be a laugh or a sob—probably both. The tears are already streaming down her face, but she’s smiling, that incandescent smile I fell in love with. Cassian’s grip on her hand tightens, and I see him blink rapidly, processing. His jaw works, and I realize he’s fighting his own emotions, that careful control finally cracking under the weight of this moment.

“A girl,” Sophie repeats, wonder in her voice. “We’re having a girl.”

“A healthy girl,” Dr. Patel confirms. “Everything looks perfect. Right on schedule.”

I stare at the screen, at the small figure floating in the dark space of Sophie’s womb. That’s my daughter. Or Cassian’s daughter. Or our daughter, regardless of biology—because that’s what we decided, and that’s what matters. The distinction that once seemed so important has faded into irrelevance, replaced by something larger, something that transcends DNA and genetics.

“She’s beautiful,” I manage, my voice rough.

“She looks like a blob,” Sophie says, laughing through tears.

“A beautiful blob. The most beautiful blob I’ve ever seen.”

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