[Sophie’s POV]

The weeks blur together in a haze of growing awareness and nesting instincts and the slow, steady work of building a life.

By the time I hit four months, the nursery is finally taking shape. Soft sage green walls, a white crib that Cassian spent four hours assembling while Adrian offered increasingly unhelpful suggestions, a rocking chair positioned by the window where morning light spills in like honey. Every time I walk past the doorway, I pause to look inside, still unable to fully believe that in five more months there will be a person in there. A tiny human who will depend on us for everything.

Maggie. Our daughter. Still more concept than reality, but getting closer every day.

“You’re doing it again,” Adrian observes, finding me standing in the nursery doorway for the third time that morning. He wraps his arms around me from behind, his hands settling on the small curve of my belly where Maggie is beginning to make her presence known. “Staring at the room like it might disappear if you look away.”

“I’m memorizing it,” I tell him, leaning back into his warmth. “This version of it, I mean. Before it gets covered in spit-up and chaos and all the things babies apparently produce in alarming quantities.”

“According to my research, the primary outputs are bodily fluids and noise,” Cassian calls from somewhere in the apartment. “We should invest in industrial-strength cleaning supplies and noise-canceling headphones.”

Adrian snorts against my hair. “He’s been reading parenting forums again. I told him to stop, but he claims it’s ‘preparing for contingencies.'”

“Preparation is the foundation of success,” Cassian appears in the hallway, coffee mug in hand, looking entirely too put-together for a Saturday morning. “Also, Cleo called while you were in the shower. She wants to know if next Sunday works.”

“Works for what?”

The question makes both men exchange a look that immediately raises my suspicions. There’s something conspiratorial in the glance, a shared knowledge that I’m not privy to, and I’ve learned over the past months to recognize when they’re keeping secrets.

“What’s next Sunday?” I press, turning in Adrian’s arms to face them both. “Why are you two looking at each other like that? What did Cleo say?”

“Nothing,” Adrian says, too quickly.

“It’s a surprise,” Cassian adds, which is somehow worse.

“I don’t like surprises. Surprises make me anxious. The last major surprise in my life was finding out I was pregnant, and look how well that initial period went.”

Adrian’s expression softens, his hands finding my face, tilting it up toward him. “This is a good surprise, I promise. Cleo has been planning it for weeks, and she will actually murder us if we ruin it, so please just trust us and pretend to be surprised when the time comes.”

“Cleo is throwing me a party,” I guess, because I’m not an idiot. “A baby shower. That’s what this is about, isn’t it? She’s been asking weird questions about my schedule for weeks, and she keeps texting Cassian about dietary restrictions, and—”

“Sophie.” Cassian’s voice is gentle but firm, cutting through my spiraling. “Yes, it’s a baby shower. No, we’re not telling you any details. And yes, you’re going to act surprised, because Cleo has put an enormous amount of effort into this, and she deserves to see your face when you walk in. Can you do that for her?”

The irritation drains out of me, replaced by something warmer. A baby shower. My best friend, planning a celebration for the daughter I’m carrying, the family I’m building. Six months ago, I was packing a suitcase and writing goodbye letters. Now people are throwing parties.

“I can do that,” I concede, my voice thick with unexpected emotion. “I can pretend to be surprised. But only because I love Cleo, not because either of you are good at keeping secrets.”

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