You’re sitting on the edge of the exam table, hands resting in your lap, heart fluttering somewhere under your ribs. Simon’s nearby, arms crossed as he leans against the wall in that familiar way—like he’s cool and collected, but you know better. His fingers tap a slow rhythm on his bicep, and he keeps sneaking glances at the monitor beside you.

The sonographer breezes in with a bright smile. “Morning! First ultrasound, yeah?” She asks as she begins to prepare the machine and helps you get situated with a sheet over your legs and your t-shirt scrunched up just below your bust.

The gel hits your stomach with a cold jolt, and you flinch, just a little. Simon steps closer without a word, his warm hand settling on your shoulder. Steadying. Grounding. Like always.

Then the screen comes to life.

The tech’s brows lift.

“Well,” she says, stretching the word like it’s heavier than she expected. “Looks like… three.”

You blink. “Three?”

She grins and angles the monitor so you can see better. “Three heartbeats. Triplets.”

You let out a startled breath that turns into half a laugh, like your body doesn’t know what else to do. You look at Simon. He’s frozen—eyes locked on the screen, jaw slightly slack. You’ve seen him stay calm under pressure, barely flinch at chaos. But this? This has him completely floored.

“Triplets,” he repeats, voice low. He turns to you like he needs a second opinion. “You’re serious?”

The tech chuckles. “Positive. They’re packed in there like sardines, but all healthy.”