37. Addy
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Addy
By the time morning arrives, I’ve cried myself into a state best described as damp raccoon in institutional lighting.
Not my finest era.
The hospital room is too bright, too beige, too quiet in the exact way that makes every thought louder. The kind of quiet where your brain says, Oh, excellent, no distractions, let’s examine every decision you’ve ever made and rank them by destructiveness.
Spoiler alert: sleeping with Ethan Strong on an airplane ranked high.
Sleeping with him again after becoming his live-in nanny also made a strong showing.
Falling for him? Gold medal.
I’m curled on my side beneath the scratchy blanket, one hand resting over my stomach like I can protect myself from information that already got inside me. The IV tugs against the back of my hand every time I move. My eyes burn, my throat hurts, my face feels swollen.
Basically, I’m glowing.
Pregnancy looks amazing on me so far.
There’s a soft knock before the door opens.
I expect a nurse.
Instead, Luci storms in wearing leggings, an oversized hoodie, sneakers, and the expression of a woman ready to fight hospital administration, Ethan Strong, and the city of Chicago.
Her hair is shoved into a messy bun. Her mascara is smudged under one eye. She has a tote bag over one shoulder and a paper coffee cup in her hand.
The second she sees me, her face changes. “Oh, Addy.”
That’s all it takes.
My face crumples.
“No,” I say, which is useless, because I’m already crying again.
Luci drops everything onto the chair and reaches the bed in three strides. She climbs halfway onto it like visiting hours and medical equipment are merely suggestions, wrapping both arms around me carefully.
“I’m here,” she says into my hair. “I’m here. I’ve got you.”
That makes it worse. Because I’ve been trying very hard not to feel alone, and the second I’m not alone anymore, every bit of effort collapses like wet cardboard.
I sob into her hoodie. “I’m pregnant.”
“I know.”
Of course she does. Because Ethan called her to come here. Because he… can’t? I’m not sure.
“And he left me…” I wail.
“He went home to Oliver.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
I hate that question because yes, I do know. I know Oliver needed him. I know Diane couldn’t keep him all night. I know Ethan is a father before he is anything else.
And that’s part of why I lo…
Nope.
No.
Not finishing that sentence in a hospital gown.
“I know,” I whisper. “But it still hurt.”
Luci softens immediately. “Of course it did.”
“I wanted him to stay, and then I hated myself for wanting it because Oliver needed him, and Oliver’s five, and I’m twenty-eight and technically know how to operate a microwave and pay taxes.”
Luci brushes hair back from my face. “You were scared.”
“I am scared.”
“I know.”
“No, Luci. I’m really scared.” My voice breaks. “I don’t have a job if this goes badly. I live in his house. I take care of his son. His wife died. His company is exploding. My ex is somehow involved in all of it like a cursed LinkedIn goblin. And now I’m pregnant.”
She sits on the edge of the bed, holding my hand. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Not okay like it’s fine. Okay like we’re going to take the giant flaming pile of chaos one piece at a time.”
“I don’t think chaos should be flaming.”
“No, but yours has committed to branding.”
A watery laugh escapes me.
She squeezes my hand. “First, you’re alive. Second, the doctor said you’re stable. Third, you’re not making any major life decisions while wearing a hospital bracelet.”
“That seems reasonable.”
“Fourth, if Ethan Strong acts like an emotionally constipated statue, I’ll handle him.”
Despite everything, I smile. “Please don’t threaten the billionaire while I’m medically fragile.”
“I make no promises.”
“He looked terrified,” I whisper.
Luci’s expression gentles. “Of course he did.”
“Not normal terrified. Like… haunted terrified.” I stare at the blanket. “Like I was suddenly part of something that already hurt him.”
Luci says nothing. “His wife died in a crash, Addy.”
“I know.”
“And you fainted in front of him.”
“I know.”
“And now there’s a baby.”
The word baby lands in the room.
My hand drifts to my stomach again.
A baby.
There’s a baby inside me.
A tiny, impossible passenger that apparently boarded without permission and is now significantly altering the flight plan.
“I don’t know how to do this,” I say.
“No one knows how to do this.”
“People absolutely know how to do this. There are books and classes. Women who eat leafy greens on purpose.”
For a while, we sit without speaking. Luci fusses with my blanket, drinks half her coffee, then remembers I might smell it and hides it behind the chair like caffeine is a crime scene. A nurse comes in to check my blood pressure and tells me the OB team should be ready soon.
My stomach flips. This time, not nausea. Fear.
Luci sees it. “Hey.”
“What if something’s wrong?”
“Then we deal with it.”
I swallow hard. “What if everything is fine?”
“Then we deal with that too.”
My eyes sting again because apparently pregnancy comes with the emotional regulation of a haunted sprinkler system.
“I want Ethan,” I admit, so quietly I almost don’t hear myself.
Luci’s face becomes soft and complicated. “I know.”
“I hate that I want him.”
“No, you don’t.”
“No, I don’t.” I close my eyes. “I just hate that wanting him gives him the power to hurt me.”
“Yeah,” she says. “That part sucks.”
“What if I’m second place again?”
“You’re not second place.”
I can hardly breathe. “You don’t know that.”
“I know you.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“No,” she says firmly. “But I also saw him with you, the way he looks at you.”
Before I can respond, there’s another knock, and Dr. Patel steps in with a soft smile. “Good morning, Adeline. How are you feeling?”
“Like my life got hit by a bus, but physically less nauseous.”
Her smile widens. “That’s something.”
“This is my sister, Luci.”
“Hi,” Luci says, immediately sitting straighter like she’s about to cross-examine her. “I’m emotional support and also quality control.”
Dr. Patel takes that in stride. “Good. We’re ready to take you for the ultrasound. The OB attending will meet us there.”
My entire body goes cold. “Now?”
“If you’re ready.”
Absolutely not.
“Yes,” I say.
Luci stands. “I’m coming.”
Dr. Patel nods. “That’s fine.”
The trip through the hallway feels too long and too short at the same time. I’m wheeled down because hospitals enjoy making people feel like invalids even when they have functioning legs. Luci walks beside me with one hand on the rail, her jaw set like she’s escorting royalty into battle.
The ultrasound room is dimmer than my hospital room, which helps until I remember why we’re here. A technician introduces herself as Mara. The OB attending, Dr. Levin, joins us a few minutes later, kind-eyed and professional, with silver-streaked hair and a voice designed to lower blood pressure.
It doesn’t work, but I appreciate the attempt.
They help me get settled. Luci stands near my shoulder and takes my hand.
“Cold gel,” Mara warns.
“That phrase has never improved a situation,” I mutter.
Then the gel hits my stomach.
I flinch. “Betrayal.”
Luci snorts.
Mara moves the probe over my lower abdomen, and the screen fills with shifting gray shapes I do not understand at all.
I stare at it like it might start explaining itself.
For several seconds, there’s only the soft hum of the machine and the faint clicking of keys.
Then Mara’s expression changes.
My heart climbs into my throat. “What?”
Dr. Levin steps closer to the screen.
Luci’s hand tightens around mine.
“What?” I repeat, higher this time. “Is something wrong?”
“No,” Dr. Levin says quickly. “I’m seeing a pregnancy in the uterus, which is good. Let’s take a closer look.”
Mara adjusts the angle. The image shifts again. Dr. Levin studies it carefully. Then she says, “Well.”
I don’t like well.
‘Well’ is what people say before announcing weather damage, plumbing costs, or that your ex-boyfriend has become a federal problem.
“Well?” Luci demands.
Dr. Levin looks at me, smiling gently but with surprise in her eyes. “Adeline, it looks like there’s more than one gestational sac.”
I blink. My brain opens a blank document. “I’m sorry. More than one what?”
Mara shifts the probe slightly. “Here’s one.” She points to the screen. “And here’s another.”
My lungs stop working.
“And…” Dr. Levin leans in a little closer. “There appears to be a third.”
Silence.
The kind of silence that happens after someone drops a piano from a great height and everyone waits to see who survived.
Luci speaks first.
“Third?” she says.
Dr. Levin nods. “Yes.”
“Third as in…”
“As in triplets,” Mara says softly.
I stare at the screen.
Triplets.
The word doesn't enter my brain so much as crash-land there and burst into flames.
I start laughing.
Not because it’s funny.
Although, objectively, on some cosmic level, it is hilarious. Of course. Of course I couldn’t just have one surprise baby with my billionaire pilot boss, slash emotionally unavailable widower, slash ex’s former best friend.
No.
My uterus heard the assignment and said, Let’s scale.
“Addy?” Luci says carefully.
“I’m fine,” I say, laughing harder.
No one believes me.
I point weakly at the screen. “That’s… that’s too many.”
Dr. Levin’s mouth twitches, but she remains admirably professional. “It’s certainly a surprise.”
“A surprise is one baby,” I say. “Two is a plot twist. Three is a hostile takeover.”
Luci makes a sound that might be a laugh or a sob.
I look at her. “There are three.”
“Yes, babe.”
“Inside me.”
“That is generally how triplets work.”
The laughter breaks. A sob comes up behind it, sudden and unstoppable.
Luci bends over me instantly, pressing her forehead to mine. “Hey. Breathe.”
“I can’t have three babies.”
“You don’t have to have them today.”
“That is the least helpful thing you’ve ever said.”
“I’m improvising.”
Dr. Levin gives us a moment before speaking gently.
“Adeline, I know this is overwhelming. Triplet pregnancies are considered high risk, so you’ll need closer monitoring, more frequent appointments, and a specialist in maternal-fetal medicine.
But right now, what we’re checking is location and early viability markers.
We’ll take measurements and discuss next steps carefully. ”
High risk.
The words land cold.
My hand goes protectively over my stomach again, though there’s gel everywhere, and I immediately regret the texture.
“Are they okay?” I ask.
Dr. Levin softens. “From what we can see today, things are where they should be. It’s still early, and we’ll need follow-up imaging, but there is nothing here that suggests an immediate emergency.”
Mara continues the scan, capturing images, measuring tiny impossible shapes. I can’t make sense of most of it, but I can’t look away either.
Three.
Three tiny beginnings.
Three little flickers.
Three reasons my life will never be the same.
Beneath the terror, something else rises, fragile and warm.
Wonder.