LOGINMia'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
Mia's POVThe kind of morning that doesn't care about sleepless nights or kitchen floors covered in towels or the way your knees have gone numb from kneeling.The sun just comes up anyway.Gas is still lying in the whelping box. Her breathing has slowed. Six puppies are clustered against her belly. Six small bodies, each one no bigger than my palm, their eyes sealed shut, their ears folded flat against their heads. They move in that particular way newborn things move—not quite coordinated, not quite intentional, just small twitches and squirms as they search for warmth, for milk, for the heartbeat that has been their whole world until twenty minutes ago.The first one—the one that almost wasn't—is in the middle.I can see it from here. Smaller than the others. Its fur still damp, not quite dried despite all the towels, all the rubbing. But its chest is rising. Falling. Rising again."Mama."Alexander's voice is a rasp. Sandpaper wrapped in cotton. He's been talking for hours—to Kyle,
Mia's POVThe fourth puppy comes while Alexander is still counting.I barely register it. My hands move on autopilot—catch, tear, clear, rub. This one fights from the first second, squirming and protesting, and I place it near Gas's belly without really seeing it. The smell of blood and birth is thick in my nose now."Forty-seven, forty-eight, forty-nine—"Alexander's voice has gone hoarse. Scratchy. Like he's been yelling at a soccer game for hours.The fifth one slides out easier than the others. Already crying before I clear its face. Strong. Angry. Alive."Fifty-two, fifty-three—""Alexander." Ethan's voice cuts through. "Your hands.""I'm fine.""They're shaking. You need to switch.""I said I'm fine—""You're going to hurt it.""I don't want to stop," he whispers. "What if I stop—""It won't be your fault." Kyle's voice "Nothing about this is your fault. But Ethan's right. Your muscles are tired. Madison can take over for a few minutes.""But—""You're not giving up. You're bein
Mia's POVSmall feet on hardwood.The shuffle of sleep-heavy steps. The creak of the third floorboard from the hallway—the one Alexander always jumps over during the day but forgets about at night."Mama?" Alexander's voice. "Mama, what's—"He stops.Three small figures in the dim light. Alexander in front, his dinosaur pajamas twisted, one sock missing, hair flat on the left side where he was sleeping. Ethan just behind him, squinting, one hand on the wall like he's not quite sure he's awake. Madison at the back.Alexander's eyes find Kyle first.I watch it happen, the moment of wait, Daddy's supposed to be in the hospital, and then something else. Then his gaze moves past Kyle. To the puppy in Kyle's hands."Is that..." He's already walking. His bare feet slap against the floor, too loud in the quiet. "Is that one of the babies? Why isn't it—why is it so still?""Alexander—""It's not moving." He's beside Kyle now, dropping to his knees, his face level with Kyle's hands. "Daddy, it'
Mia's POVThe world outside is holding its breath. No cars. No voices. Just the hum of the refrigerator and the soft, ragged sounds of Gas panting beside me.I've been sitting on this floor for so long that my tailbone has gone numb. My back aches. My eyes burn from not blinking enough, from staring at Gas's swollen belly like I can will the puppies out through sheer concentration.Gas whines again.Not her usual whine—not the one she uses when Alexander steals the last bite of my toast, or when Ethan accidentally steps on her tail. This sound comes from somewhere deeper."I know, girl." My voice is barely a whisper. "I know."I press my palm against her side and feel another contraction ripple beneath her fur. The muscles tighten, hold, release. Her back legs scrabble against the towels I've laid out. Her eyes find mine.Dogs can't speak, but right now, in this moment, Gas is telling me something with every fiber of her being."I'm here." I stroke the space between her ears. "I'm rig







