Chapter 41
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Sara
My ankles hate me.
They’ve officially surrendered to gravity, hormones, and the weight of three increasingly athletic babies doing gymnastics on my bladder.
I’ve learned to accept this.
What I haven’t accepted, or forgiven, is how a hundred-degree July afternoon in Manhattan feels when you’re basically nine months pregnant and still trying to act as a functioning adult.
“You know,” Laura says, glancing sidelong at me as I waddle beside her in what used to be a breezy sundress, “most women at this stage would be horizontal. Somewhere air conditioned. With snacks.”
“I have snacks,” I mutter, fishing a half-melted protein bar out of my bag. “And I can’t sit down or I may never get up again.”
She laughs, but her eyes are scanning my face. Watching me carefully, like she always does when she knows I’m carrying more than I’m saying.
“So,” she says, “heard from HR?”
I chew slowly, then nod. “They want me to come back after maternity. Technically, my leave was unofficial, just a ‘pause pending resolution,’ as they so eloquently put it.”
“Uh-huh,” Laura says dryly. “That’s corporate speak for ‘we’re not admitting guilt, but we don’t want to get sued.’ I mean, it’s bullshit, right? Isla’s article came out months ago. It really took them this long to get their shit together?”
I smile, but it doesn’t reach my eyes.
“After everything,” I say, “it feels hollow. Like a box they’re checking, hoping I’ll just be grateful and quiet.”
“They fired you because of optics. Not policy. And they only changed their tune because Nick forced the conversation in the press.”
I nod. “He was… relentless.”
“Because he loves you. And because he’s seen what happens when silence wins.”
I pause at the corner and lean against a tree, letting the shade cool my back. “He’s been different lately. Softer. No less himself, still overprotective, still terrifying in meetings, but more aware of how far his shadow stretches.”
Laura smiles. “You mean he’s finally letting you take the lead when it matters.”
I look down at my belly, watching it shift beneath the fabric as one of the babies rolls a foot across my ribs. “He doesn’t try to shield me anymore. He stands beside me. Even when it’s uncomfortable.”
“He’s learning.”
“He’s trying,” I say. “And that means more than I ever thought it would.”
Laura tilts her head. “So what’s holding you back?”
I sigh. “The idea of going back there and pretending they didn’t humiliate me. That they didn’t toss me aside the second I became an issue.”
“You wouldn’t be going back for them, Sara. You’d be going back because you earned it. Because it’s still your seat at that table, no matter who tried to pull it out from under you.”
I go quiet.
The truth is, things are good now. Better than good, actually.
Nick’s been patient and present in a way I didn’t know he was capable of. Learning to read my moods, cooking when I can’t stand the smell of anything, sleeping with one arm permanently curled around me as if he’s afraid I’ll vanish in the night.
He talks to the babies every morning, whispers things to my stomach as though they’ll remember. He’s already in love with them, and it shows in every plan he makes, every article he deflects, every press request he shuts down with a sharp “no.”
We’ve carved out something real. Something ours.
But that doesn’t erase what happened.
“You know,” I murmur, “I spent so long trying to prove I belonged. That I was competent, professional, deserving of my role. And the second a headline questioned that, it all unraveled. No warning. No defense.”
Laura’s quiet for a moment. Then, “Do you want to go back?”
I don’t answer right away. A cab honks as it speeds past. Somewhere behind us, someone’s playing jazz on a speaker. The city feels both distant and immediate, alive and unaware.
“I don’t know. I guess I’ll need to see what happens with these babies first…”
A shadow passes over us as we near the corner café. Laura looks at her phone.
“I’ve got a meeting in ten. You good to grab your decaf sugar sludge alone? I promise you, this place is good. You’ll love it.”
“I’m waddling, not immobile,” I say, smirking. “Go. I’ll survive. And I’ll be the judge of your drinks expertise!”
She kisses my cheek and disappears into the crowd.
I push open the café door, the blast of cool air washing over my skin, a blessing from the gods. The place is mostly empty. Mid-afternoon lull, soft music, quiet baristas. I step toward the counter.
Before I can open my mouth, the barista gives me a strange smile. One that’s too knowing.
“Large iced decaf oat milk latte with a pump of caramel?”
I blink. “How did you…?”
“It’s already paid for.” He sets the drink down, then slides a folded piece of cardstock across the counter. “And this came with it.”
I stare at it for a beat.
It’s thick, high-quality stationery. The kind you don’t just carry around in a café apron. My name is written across the front in blocky, familiar handwriting.
Nick.
I glance behind me, half-expecting to see him lurking in a booth. But the room is empty, save for a guy on a laptop and a woman reading The Goldfinch.
With a slow breath, I unfold the card.
Clue #1
We met in an elevator. You were wearing that navy dress. I was pretending not to be intrigued.
Go to the place where you first called me a “Wall Street cliché.”
(You were right, by the way.)
“What the hell is this?” No one answers me. “I have to go back to the Armand Hotel?”
How embarrassing. The last time I was there, I ran from the elevator, thoroughly wrecked by the handsome stranger I had no idea would become my boss.
Beneath the note is a second slip of paper: a black car voucher. The driver’s name is already written.
My ride is waiting.
I should’ve known Nick wouldn’t make this easy.
I’m standing at the front desk of the Armand Hotel, trying to smooth the front of my dress as I fight to keep my face from turning into a tomato. The receptionist, blond, perfectly manicured, with the kind of smile that could sell you a penthouse, hands me a delicate envelope with my next clue.
I slip it into my bag without making eye contact, hoping the floor might open up and swallow me whole.
No such luck.
“Enjoy your day, Ms. Brooks,” she says, and I’m nearly out the door when I catch a glimpse of the note.
Clue #2
I couldn’t breathe when I saw you in that dress.
I might have fallen in love with you right there and then.
Thanks, Bianca.
At the bottom of the note is a picture of a little black book.
I stare at the words for a second, then let out a short laugh. Of course. The last time I was there, I nearly passed out from sticker shock, but somehow managed to walk away with a dress that cost more than my rent.
Bianca, the slightly snooty assistant, really did find me the dress for that gala. And it was a magical night… until Rebecca turned up.
But I’m not going to let the memory of her ruin… well, whatever this is.
My stomach twists as I think of the boutique, its ridiculously sleek, minimalist vibe, and the exorbitant price tags that make the idea of even looking at something feel like a criminal act.
But this scavenger hunt? It’s not exactly giving me a choice.
I head back to the car.
“Take me to SoHo,” I mutter, sinking into the backseat. “I guess.”
Bianca, ever the picture of poised, effortlessly chic, and mildly terrifying, hands me the note, with a glint in her eyes that almost makes me laugh.
I blink, trying to focus through the dizziness of what I’m holding. It’s another high-quality cardstock note, this time with an elegant, scrawled message that makes my stomach drop just a little.
Clue #3
Remember that apartment you almost called home?
Go back to where you left a piece of yourself behind.
The place where I found out that things were never going to be straightforward…
The sting of those memories comes crashing in, uninvited.
My old apartment.
The one I was living in when Laura casually dropped the bombshell that I was pregnant with triplets and that Nick had no clue. The one I’d nearly left when everything went haywire.
I force a smile, though it feels a little too tight around the edges. “So, you’re telling me I’m going back to my old place?”
“It seems fitting,” Bianca says coolly, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. “The journey wouldn’t be complete without it.”
Journey?
This is fun… but definitely odd.
“Yeah… sure.”
“Good luck,” Bianca says with that knowing smile of hers.
I force another smile back. “I don’t need luck. I just need some coffee and a very long nap.”
With a last glance at the boutique’s over-the-top glitz, I head out the door. The city’s noise hits me all over again. The traffic, the constant chatter, the sense that the world is moving faster than I can keep up with.
And just like that, I’m headed to the starting line of everything that’s happened since.
The moment I step into my old apartment, it hits me. The smell of old takeout, the sticky feeling of trying to make a place work that was never meant to feel like home.
But it’s not just the place. It’s the memories. The memories of a time when I was a totally different version of myself. The Sara who thought she had everything figured out.
I mean, wow. That Sara was clueless.
And now here I am, standing in the middle of this stale space, not sure what I’m supposed to be looking for. Another clue? Something else?
I can’t see a thing. Just a space where, right now, no one lives.
I just kind of stand there, doing my best to not let my face betray the fact that I might be more than a little confused. And that’s when I hear it.
“Boo.”
I spin around and there he is. Nick. Looking like he’s been waiting in the wings for this exact moment, as if he knew I’d need a minute to process everything.
And, of course, because it’s him, he’s just standing there with that damn smile on his face. The one that says, “I’m not going anywhere.”
For a second, all I can do is stare.
Because here we are.
In the very apartment where everything felt uncertain. Where I had no clue how the hell I was going to get from one day to the next.
And there he is, a man who might have just solved the world’s problems by showing up.
“Nick…” I say, but it comes out as a question. I don’t even know what I’m asking. But I’m pretty sure I don’t need to.
He steps forward. Slow, but with intention. And there’s that look in his eyes. That thing he only pulls out when he’s about to drop a hammer.
The one that makes me want to put my head in my hands and scream for all the reasons I should be terrified and all the reasons I’m actually not.
“I’m here because I can’t imagine doing life without you,” he says, his voice steady, but with that edge to it. It seems he’s about to put his entire future in my hands. “You, me, the babies… We’re in this together. I want this. All of this.”
And that’s when Meatball enters the scene, strutting like he owns the place, because, well, once upon a time, he pretty much did. With something in his mouth that I can’t quite make out. It’s pink. And shiny.
I freeze.
“Is he…?” I don’t even finish the sentence. Because I know.
Nick, grinning foolishly, gets down to Meatball’s level. “Yep. He’s got the ring.”
And sure enough, Meatball drops the damn ring at my feet—no big deal, just the latest in his list of performances. He even gives me a little wag of his tail, as if he’s saying, “Nailed it.”
I laugh. I laugh because only Nick could pull this off. A proposal with a dog, of course. What else could go wrong, or right, depending on how you look at it?
The ring’s there, and I’m pretty sure I’m about to cry or laugh or do both at the same time.
“Are you kidding me?” I’m almost choking on my words, still holding onto the ridiculousness of it all. “You’re proposing to me with a dog?”
Nick looks up at me, serious for once. “Yeah, I am. Because I want to marry you, Sara. I want all of it. The highs, the lows, the ridiculousness. Everything. I mean, we’ve had a crazy time, right?
From the moment you crashed into my life like a hurricane, it’s been insane.
And now… well, I want to carry that on. Forever. ”
“Nick,” I whisper, completely thrown. I can’t even process what he’s saying, but all I know is I want this. I want him.
“So, what do you say, Sara? Will you marry me?”
“Yes,” I hiss out.
And then, just when I think nothing else could possibly surprise me, it happens.
I gasp as a jolt of electricity shoots through me.
My heart drops into my stomach, my breath catches in my throat. I don’t know what’s happening at first; my body just goes into shock. Everything has suddenly gone on pause.
It’s not a cramp, not a sharp pain, but a rush… a heavy, cold weight that makes my knees buckle.
Before I can even register what’s happening, I double over, clutching my belly as if holding on to something that might slip through my fingers. My hands tremble, the only thing I can focus on now is the sudden wetness, the heat that rises in my face.
For a split second, I think I’m dreaming. No. No, this can’t be happening. Not now. Not here.
I look up at Nick, my vision blurry around the edges, and I can’t even speak. I try to take a breath, but it’s caught somewhere in the air, thick and suffocating.
His face goes from calm and serene to pure panic in the span of a heartbeat as the wetness spreads.
“What the hell, Sara?” Nick freezes, eyes wide with panic. “Is this…?”
“I think so,” I manage through a laugh, holding onto him for support. “I… my water just broke, Nick.”
Nick, understandably, starts to lose it. “Sara, what? No. Wait. We’re not… what the hell do we do now?”
I just laugh harder. I can’t even help it. The situation is so completely absurd, it might as well be scripted. I turn to Meatball, who’s happily trotting around us as if nothing is wrong.
“I guess we’re going to the hospital, huh?”
“What?” Nick asks again, his voice climbing the higher register. “The hospital? You’re really doing this now?”
And of course, Meatball, sensing the chaos, howls, on cue, just to add more flair to the situation.
I clutch Nick’s arm, trying to steady myself. “I guess so. You did propose with a dog, after all. You should have expected the babies to want to join in.”
Oh my god.
Babies.
The babies are coming. Are we even ready for it?
Nick looks like he might pass out, his panic on full blast now. I can’t even process it because I’m too busy dying from the absurdity of it all.
“Okay, we need to get you to the hospital. Now. Now.”
But before we can make any moves, Meatball goes full diva, howling again, this time louder than before, announcing the chaos to the entire building.
It’s hospital time.
As Nick scrambles, trying to coordinate a car, and I’m halfway between laughing and holding back tears, I think to myself, of course it’s happening in this way. This is us. This is our life.
And, surprisingly, it’s kind of perfect.