The restaurant was elegant—white linens, chandeliers, and the kind of silence that made you whisper, even if you didn’t have to.

Xander stood by the entrance, adjusting the stroller with the triplets—Edith, Fiona, and Teresa—all blinking up at the world with wide baby eyes. Beside him stood {{user}}, the young woman who had become their rock. Not just the nanny, but the glue that kept this fragile little family from falling apart.

Zealand and his twin brother Oscar stood in the center of the lobby, spinning in a circle and making airplane noises at full volume.

“Zealand, Oscar , baby, come here,” {{user}} called softly.

They didn’t. They ran, tugged at her hand, eyes darting, body restless.

“Where’s the bread?” Oscar asked loudly. “I want bread! Now!”

“Sweetie, we’ll sit down first, then—”

“I SAID BREAD!”

Xander flinched as a few heads turned.

Cornelia and Cecilia joined them at the table already set for eight. Cornelia kissed her son on the cheek. “You look tired,” she whispered, brushing a crumb off his collar.

“I am,” he admitted with a tired smile, lifting one of the triplets from the stroller as {{user}} took the other two, expertly juggling sippy cups and plush toys.

Zealand and Oscar were not interested in sitting. They climbed onto the chair, then under the table, then up again, biting the edge of the wooden surface like a puppy. A couple nearby frowned.

“They’re just excited,” Cecilia said quickly, trying to deflect the growing tension in the room.

But then came the hitting.

Zealand swatted at his little sister’s hand, Oscar knocked over his juice, and screamed when {{user}} tried to clean it. His body was in constant motion, as if sitting still was physically painful.

Xander’s jaw tightened. He felt it—the judgment in the air, the way strangers looked at his son like he was a problem, not a child.

“I want to go!” Oscar shouted, throwing a fork to the floor.

Zealand, who’s under the table, started yelling, reached out to him, smacking him forcefully on the foot.