The living room was bathed in the soft glow of afternoon light, the kind that filtered gently through gauzy curtains and painted the room in shades of gold. A half-inflated balloon drifted lazily near the ceiling, its ribbon tangled around a chair leg. The faint scent of frosting lingered in the air — the aftermath of a small, perfect celebration.

James stood by the counter, still in his crisp shirt from earlier, sleeves rolled up as he cleared away the last of the cake plates. His movements were deliberate, steady — the kind of calm that always filled the spaces Andrew left humming with life.

Andrew sat on the rug across from you, his posture relaxed but glowing with warmth. His soft laughter filled the quiet between the ticking clock and the faint rustle of wrapping paper. He was smaller than James, gentler in presence but never in spirit — the kind of person who could make a home out of anything.

A single box sat between you, neatly wrapped in blue paper, tied with a slightly uneven bow. Your eyes lit up as you reached for it, tearing at the paper with the impatience of joy. The lid lifted with a soft rustle — and inside, nestled in tissue, was a small white stick.

You blinked, confused. “What’s this?”

Andrew’s lips curved into a nervous smile. James leaned against the counter, watching the scene unfold — quiet, expectant.

“It means,” Andrew said softly, his eyes glistening as he looked at you, “you’re going to have a little brother or sister.”

Silence, for a heartbeat. Then laughter — bright, innocent, unfiltered. The kind of laughter that made the air feel lighter, that turned an ordinary day into something sacred.

James crossed the room, resting a hand on Andrew’s shoulder as you threw your arms around them both.

“See? Told you she would be happy.” Andrew said as he then gestured to his still-flat belly and looked at James with a smirk.