LOGINSophia's POVSixteen weeks pregnant, and I couldn't hide it anymore.The bump was there. Small but undeniable. Clothes that had fit last week no longer cooperated."You're showing," Emma observed during lunch. "Like, actually showing.""I'm aware.""It's cute. You look pregnant instead of just bloated.""Thank you for that distinction.""You're welcome." She stabbed her salad. "Have you told work yet? Officially?""Board meeting next week. I'll tell them then.""They're going to have opinions.""They always have opinions. I stopped caring about board opinions around the time I fired three of them for incompetence.""Fair point."Isabella sat between us in her booster seat, eating french fries with intense concentration. She'd mastered the art of dipping them in ketchup—mostly."Mama belly big," she announced."Yes, baby's growing.""Baby come out soon?""Not for a while. Baby needs to grow more first."She seemed satisfied with this. Returned to her fries."She's very calm about the w
Sophia's POVTwelve weeks pregnant, and everything hurt.Not physically. Physically I was fine. Better than with Isabella, actually. Less nausea. More energy.Emotionally, though. Everything hurt.Old fears resurfacing. Old patterns creeping back.What if I couldn't do this again? What if two kids broke us? What if Isabella suffered because we divided our attention?What if, what if, what if.Dr. Morrison listened to me spiral during our session."This sounds familiar," she observed."I know. I'm regressing. Being ridiculous.""You're being human. Second pregnancies often trigger different anxieties than first ones.""Why?""Because you know what you're getting into now. With Isabella, you were terrified of the unknown. Now you're terrified of the known."She was right.I knew what sleepless nights felt like. Knew the exhaustion. The constant demand. The way a baby consumed everything.And I was choosing to do it again."What if I can't love them equally?" I asked quietly."That's the
Sophia's POVThree weeks after Isabella's birthday, I missed my period.Not unusual. Stress did that. Work did that. Parenting a two-year-old did that.I didn't think anything of it.Until I missed the second one.Then I thought about it.Thought about the conversation with David. About having another baby. About how we'd said "eventually" and "we'll think about it."Thought about how "eventually" might be now.I bought a test on the way home from work. Hid it in my purse. Waited until evening when David took Isabella to the park.Two minutes. That's how long the test took.I sat on the bathroom floor, watching the little window.One line.Then two.Pregnant.I stared at it. Trying to feel something. Anything.Mostly I felt numb.Not bad numb. Not good numb. Just... numb."Sophia?" David's voice from the bedroom. They were back.I shoved the test in the drawer. Came out trying to look normal."Hey. How was the park?""Muddy. Isabella found every puddle. She's in the bath with Maria no
Sophia's POVIsabella turned two on a Sunday.This time we had a party. Actual party. Twenty kids, chaos, activities organized by Emma who'd apparently become a professional event planner overnight."It's not that complicated," Emma said, setting up a craft station. "You just need activities every fifteen minutes so they don't destroy everything.""There are twenty toddlers in our apartment.""Twenty-three, actually. Some people brought siblings.""We're going to need a bigger apartment.""You have four thousand square feet. You're fine."She was probably right.Mrs. Thomas sat in a comfortable chair, supervising. Three months post-surgery, she was back to herself mostly. Slower. More careful. But present."This is excessive," she observed, watching Emma hang streamers."This is what you do for two-year-olds," Emma said. "Big celebration. Lots of chaos. Photographic evidence they can be embarrassed by later.""We didn't do this for David's second birthday.""That's because you were br
Sophia's POVMrs. Thomas came home after five days.Not to her apartment. To ours."She needs monitoring," David said. "Round-the-clock care for at least two weeks. We have space. We're doing it.""I'm not arguing.""You're doing the face you do when you want to argue but know you shouldn't.""This is just my face.""It's your 'I have concerns but I'm being supportive' face."He knew me too well.My concern wasn't about her staying. It was about David.He'd barely slept in five days. Spent every waking moment at the hospital. Came home only to see Isabella, then immediately returned.He was running on fumes and adrenaline.And now his mother would be here. Which meant he'd hover constantly instead of resting.But I didn't argue.Because his mother had almost died.Hovering was the least destructive coping mechanism available.---We set her up in the guest room.Hospital bed delivered and installed. Medications organized by Mr. Thomas with military precision. Cardiac monitor that woul
Sophia's POVThe call came at 2 a.m. on a Tuesday.David answered because I was deeply asleep. Isabella had been up three times with nightmares—unusual for her—and I'd just gotten her back down an hour ago."Hello?" David's voice, rough with sleep. Then sharper. "What? When?"I sat up immediately. Something was wrong.He was already out of bed, turning on the light."We're coming. Give us thirty minutes."He hung up. Looked at me with an expression that made my stomach drop."That was the hospital. My mom had a heart attack. She's in surgery."Everything stopped."What?""Heart attack. Dad's there. They don't know—they said it's serious."He was moving. Getting dressed. Hands shaking.I moved too. Autopilot. Jeans. Sweater. Shoes."Isabella," I said."Call Emma. Or Maria. Someone."I called Emma first. She answered on the third ring, groggy."Sophia? It's two in the morning—""Your mom's in the hospital. Heart attack. We need someone to watch Isabella.""I'm coming. Twenty minutes."S







