LOGINMia's POVThe waiting room is painted the color of old butter.Not quite yellow. Not quite cream. Something in between—a shade chosen by someone who thought it would be calming but instead just makes everything feel slightly nauseated.There are chairs along the walls. Hard plastic things with thin cushions that do nothing to hide how uncomfortable they are. There's a table in the corner with magazines that are six months out of date. There's a television mounted near the ceiling, playing the news on mute, the closed captions scrolling across the bottom in words that no one is reading.Scarlett is sitting by the window. Sophie is on the other side of the room."The new Valentino collection is interesting," Scarlett is saying. Her voice is too bright. Too forced. The voice of someone trying desperately to fill the silence with something—anything—other than worry. "Did you see the show? That red dress at the end? I nearly died.""I saw it," Sophie says. "Very dramatic.""I called it the
Mia's POV"That's okay," Ethan says. His voice is steady. Certain. "We're ready.""Yeah." Alexander straightens his shoulders. Lifts his chin. "We're ready."I crouch down."I love you," I say. "You know that, right? I love you so much it hurts sometimes.""I know, Mom." He rolls his eyes, but his voice is soft. "You tell me like a hundred times a day.""And I'm going to keep telling you. Until you're old and gray and so tired of hearing it that you want to scream.""That's a lot of telling.""Get used to it."I kiss his forehead. Let my lips linger there for just a moment. Feel the soft skin, the slight warmth of fever that isn't fever but just the natural heat of a child's body. The heat of life.Then I turn to Ethan.He's watching me with those calm, assessing eyes. The eyes that see everything and process it all and file it away for later analysis. But underneath the calm, I see something else. Something that looks almost like uncertainty."Come here," I say.He comes. Steps into
Mia's POVThe surgical gowns are the color of a sky that can't decide if it wants to rain.Not quite blue. Not quite gray. Something in between—a shade that exists only in hospitals, in waiting rooms, in places where time moves differently than it does in the rest of the world.Alexander's gown swallows him whole.The fabric pools around his feet, the sleeves hanging past his fingertips, the neckline slipping off one shoulder no matter how many times the nurse adjusts it. He looks smaller than he did this morning. Smaller than he did yesterday. As if the gown has somehow shrunk him."I look like a ghost," he says, examining his reflection in the window. "A blue ghost. Do you think there are blue ghosts? Ethan, are there blue ghosts?"Ethan is sitting on the edge of the hospital bed, his legs dangling. His gown is equally oversized, the hem brushing against his ankles, the fabric bunching at his waist where a nurse tried to tie it tighter. His glasses are slightly crooked. They're alwa
Mia's POVAlexander makes a sound. Something between a cheer and a sob. He's off the couch in an instant, crossing the room, throwing himself at me and Madison with enough force to nearly knock us over."Thank you thank you thank you—""Alexander—""—you're the best, Mama, you're the BEST—""I can't breathe—""—I promise I'll help take care of them, I'll feed them and walk them and—""Alexander." Kyle's voice cuts through. "Let your mother breathe."Alexander pulls back. His face is wet again. He doesn't seem to notice."Sorry," he says. "I got excited.""I noticed."Ethan has joined us. Not throwing himself at anyone—that's not Ethan's style—but standing close. Close enough that his hand finds my shoulder. Squeezes once."I'll create a care schedule," he says. " I'll optimize for efficiency while maintaining adequate rest periods for both the puppies and the caregivers.""That would be helpful, Ethan.""I know."And then all three of them are there. Alexander pressed against my side,
Mia's POV"Is it fair?" Ethan's brow furrows. "The distribution seems equitable, but we haven't established any criteria for the naming process. What if someone chooses a name that another person wanted?""Then they deal with it," Kyle says."That seems arbitrary.""Life is arbitrary, Ethan." Kyle's mouth curves. Just slightly. "The sooner you learn that, the happier you'll be."Ethan opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again."That's surprisingly nihilistic for 6 AM," he says finally.Kyle laughs. The sound is weak—barely more than a breath—but it's there. Real. And something in my chest loosens just a little at the sound of it."Okay." Alexander is already moving, sliding off the couch, crossing to the whelping box with the kind of energy that only five-year-olds and certain varieties of terrier seem to possess. "I get to pick first because I'm the oldest.""You're not the oldest," Ethan says. "We're twins.""I was born seven minutes before you.""Seven minutes doesn't constitute—"
Mia's POVI find the cabinet under the sink. Pull out the stack of clean towels I keep there—the old ones, the soft ones, the ones that are too worn for guests but perfect for moments like this.The water runs warm over my hands.I watch it swirl down the drain. Pink-tinged. Carrying away the evidence of what just happened in my living room. The towels soak up water. I wring them out. Not too wet, not too dry.When I come back, Alexander has stopped crying. He's still pressed against Kyle's chest. His eyes are half-open, unfocused, staring at nothing."Here." I kneel beside the whelping box. "Let me show you how."I lift the first puppy—the smallest one, the fighter—and begin to clean it.The fur is softer than I expected. Softer than Gas's fur, softer than anything. The puppy makes a sound when I run the warm towel over its back—a small mewl, half protest, half confusion."You're okay," I tell it. "You're okay, little one. We're just cleaning you up.""Can I try?" Ethan asks.I hand







