Novels by Fana Palms

Five years later. Spring.The triplets are eight years old now. In third grade. Distinct personalities fully formed.Sophia—our fierce leader—captain of her soccer team. Always organizing. Always in charge.Grace—our quiet observer—lost in books. Reading at a sixth-grade level. Thoughtful and deep.Hope—our gentle soul—collects injured bugs to rehabilitate. Wants to save everything and everyone.I'm in the backyard watching them play when Damien joins me."Hard to believe they were once tiny preemies," he says."I know. Now they're these whole people with opinions and dreams and attitudes.""So many attitudes."We're hosting our annual spring gathering. The tradition that started with five people now includes dozens.Virginia is here—seventy-three now, still vibrant. Teaching the girls to garden.Clara and Marcus with Lily and James—now ten, starting to look like teenagers.Keisha with Maya—nine years old, Sophia's best friend.Our chosen family. Expanded over the years. Deepened thro

Two Years Later. Spring.The triplets are three years old. Full personalities. Constant negotiation.I'm at my desk when my phone rings. Dr. Chen. My therapist."Elena, I'm calling because I'm retiring. After thirty years, I'm done."My heart drops. "Retiring? But—""I'm sixty-eight. It's time. But I wanted to tell you personally. You've been one of my most remarkable success stories.""I don't feel like a success story. I feel like I'm still figuring it out.""That's exactly why you're a success. You understand that growth never stops."We schedule a final session. Closure after six years of working together.That evening, I tell Damien."Dr. Chen is retiring.""How do you feel about that?""Sad. Grateful. Scared I'll backslide without her.""You won't backslide. You have tools now. And me. And our village.""I know. But she's been constant. Through everything."The final session arrives. Dr. Chen's office one last time."Tell me," she says. "What have you learned? In all these years

One Year Later. April.The triplets are thirteen months old. Walking. Talking in their own language. Pure chaos.I'm in the kitchen making breakfast when Sophia toddles over, pulls on my leg."Mama. Up."I pick her up. Grace immediately wants up too. Then Hope.Three toddlers. Three demands. Three different needs. Constantly."Damien!" I call. "I need reinforcement!"He appears, scoops up Grace and Hope."Crisis averted. What's for breakfast?""Chaos with a side of scrambled eggs."This is our life now. Coordinated chaos. Beautiful exhaustion. Love multiplied by three.We're hosting Sunday brunch. Our new tradition.Clara and Marcus arrive with Lily and James. Now walking, talking two-year-olds.Virginia brings pastries. Keisha brings Maya, now fourteen months.Our apartment—we upgraded to a four-bedroom last fall—is full. Loud. Perfect."How do you do this every week?" Clara asks, watching five toddlers destroy the living room."Wine. Lots of wine. And help.""We're managing," Damien

March 22nd. One week old.The triplets are still in the NICU. Doing well but not ready for home yet."They need to reach feeding milestones," the neonatal doctor explains. "All three need to consistently take full bottles. And maintain their temperatures independently.""How long?" I ask."Another week. Maybe two. They're progressing beautifully."I'm discharged from the hospital but come back every four hours to feed them.Pump. Drive to hospital. Feed babies. Drive home. Pump. Repeat.It's exhausting. But worth it.Damien comes with me for every visit. Virginia drives us when we're too tired."You need rest," she keeps saying."I need my babies home."At the NICU, we're learning their personalities already.Sophia—pink hat—is the loudest. Demands attention. Feeds aggressively.Grace—blue hat—is patient. Waits her turn. Observes everything.Hope—yellow hat—is the smallest but fiercest. Fights for every ounce."They're so different," I tell the nurse."Identical but unique. That's the

Late February. Thirty weeks pregnant with triplets.I'm enormous. Bed rest for the past two weeks. Going stir-crazy."I hate this," I tell Damien for the hundredth time. "I can't move. Can't work. Can't do anything.""You're growing three humans. That's doing something.""I'm a human incubator. That's all I am.""You're beautiful. And strong. And almost done.""Four more weeks. Maybe six if we're lucky."Dr. Rodriguez wants me to make it to 34 weeks minimum. Ideally 36. But with triplets, every day counts.Virginia has moved into our new apartment. Three-bedroom place we found in January.She's taken over everything. Cooking. Cleaning. Managing visitors."You need to rest," she insists when I try to get up. "Bed rest means bed rest.""I need to pee. That counts as necessary movement.""Fine. But then back to bed."The nursery is ready. Three cribs arranged in a row. Three of everything. Color-coded—pink, blue, yellow—so we can tell them apart."They're identical," I reminded everyone

Mid-October. Sixteen weeks pregnant.Second trimester routine ultrasound.I've been feeling strange. My belly is expanding faster than expected."Maybe I'm just bloated," I tell Damien in the waiting room."Or maybe the baby is big. Like genetically big.""Your family isn't particularly tall—""Elena Torres-Voss?" the technician calls.We follow her back. Same routine. Gel on belly. Wand moving across my stomach.But this time—she pauses. Moves the wand. Pauses again."Is everything okay?" I ask."Everything is fine. But—let me get the doctor."My heart drops. "Why do you need the doctor?""Just—one moment."Dr. Chen arrives within minutes. Takes the wand. Studies the screen.Then smiles. Huge smile."Well. This explains why you're measuring large.""What explains it?"She turns the screen toward us. Points."There's Baby A. Strong heartbeat. And there's Baby B. Also strong heartbeat. And—there's Baby C. Three strong heartbeats. You're having triplets."The room spins."Triplets?" I w