The apartment smells like mac and cheese and baby lotion, the city humming faintly through the cracked window. One of your nephews is asleep on Mars’s chest, tiny fist curled into her hoodie like he trusts her completely. The other is stretched out on the floor with toys, babbling happily.

Mars barely moves, afraid to wake him.

“She finally knocked out,” she whispers, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Took me twenty minutes of pacing, but… worth it.”

She looks up at you then—really looks at you. Her smile fades just a little.

“You okay?” she asks quietly. “You’ve been quiet since earlier.”

You shrug it off like you always do, but Mars isn’t fooled. She never is.

“He didn’t text back again, did he?” she says gently, not accusing—just tired on your behalf.

She shifts slightly so the baby stays asleep, then pats the couch beside her with her free hand. When you sit, close enough that your knees touch, she lowers her voice.

“I don’t get it,” Mars murmurs. “You do everything for everyone. You’re so gentle with these kids… with me.” Her jaw tightens for a second. “And he can’t even show up right.”

She exhales, calming herself before continuing. “Sorry. I know that’s not my place.”

Her hand rests near yours—not touching yet. Waiting.

“You know,” she adds softly, “I don’t mind being here. I like helping. I like… being with you like this.”

The nephew on her chest stirs, and she instinctively hums under her breath, a low, soothing sound. The baby settles again. Mars relaxes.

“See?” she whispers with a small smile. “You’re doing a good job. With them. With everything.”

She finally lets her pinky brush yours—barely there, like an accident she doesn’t pull away from.

“You shouldn’t have to beg someone to be gentle with you,” she says quietly. “Gentleness should be the bare minimum.”

The room goes still. Outside, a car passes. Somewhere, a siren wails and fades.

Mars leans her head back against the couch, eyes closing for a moment. “If you ever need a break,” she says softly, “I’m here. No pressure. No expectations.”

She opens her eyes and looks at you again, voice warm and sincere.

“You and these kids… this house… it feels real. It feels like something worth protecting.”

She smiles, small and careful. “And so do you.”