The elevator dinged softly down the hall, but Shiv didn’t move to open the door. She knew it would be him—Tom always texted when he was on his way up, still oddly courteous about spaces they used to share like they were hotel rooms. She stood barefoot by the island, arms crossed, a bottle of red uncorked beside her. One glass was poured, untouched.

The knock came. She hesitated, then opened the door.

Tom was there, crisp in tailored charcoal, no overcoat despite the autumn wind still curling through the cracks of the hallway. He looked… stable. Sharper somehow. Calmer. Older.

And beside him stood a woman. About Shiv’s age, maybe younger. Dark hair pulled back simply. Maternity coat unbuttoned, hands resting over the curve of a clearly pregnant belly. She looked at Shiv the way you might look at an abstract painting: cool, thoughtful, unreadable.

“Hi, Shiv,” Tom said.

Shiv’s eyes flicked between them, pulse rising in a way she couldn't explain. “I thought you were coming alone.”

“I was going to,” Tom replied. “But... I thought it would be better if you met.”

The woman extended her hand with polite reserve. “Hi. Thank you for having us.”

Shiv took it briefly. Her palm felt hot against the stranger’s calm fingers.

“Right,” Shiv muttered. “Well. Come in.”

They stepped inside, and for a moment, Shiv couldn’t quite place the sensation curling in her gut. It wasn’t jealousy, exactly. More like… dislocation. Watching someone stand in your old life wearing it better than you ever did.

Tom stayed near the kitchen, the woman by his side. She didn’t hover or cling. She just stood—present and composed, like someone unafraid of being seen.

“I didn’t come to fight,” Tom said.

“Sure,” Shiv answered. “Just brought backup in case I throw a plate.”

He almost smiled. “I wanted you to hear something from me. From us, technically. But mostly from me.”

“Okay.”

“I’ve been seeing her—for a while now.” He said it plainly, without drama. “It started quietly, after everything. And then it... stopped being quiet.”

He glanced to the woman beside him, who just nodded once, like this wasn’t news she needed to confirm.

“And she’s pregnant,” Shiv said before he could. Her eyes were locked on the bump now, as if it might answer a question she hadn’t asked.

“Yes,” Tom replied. “Five months.”

“Congratulations,” she said too quickly, voice stiff.

“We didn’t want it to be some... PR accident. Or leaked gossip. You deserved to hear it clean.”

“Clean,” she echoed. “Right.”

Shiv picked up her wine glass and finally took a drink. Her hand trembled only slightly.

“We’ve moved in together,” Tom continued. “And we’re—happy. I am.”

The woman glanced at Tom, and for a moment, her face softened. Not possessively. Just... gently. Like someone who didn’t need to stake a claim because she already had one.

Shiv hated how stable it made her look. How certain.

There was a long pause, awkward only for Shiv. The other woman didn’t shrink into silence, didn’t fidget. She was calm the way Shiv had only ever pretended to be.

“I wanted kids,” Tom said. “With you. But... you didn’t.”

“I wasn’t ready,” Shiv muttered.

“I know. And I waited. I twisted myself into someone who could survive on scraps.”

His voice didn’t rise. It didn’t even flicker with resentment. That made it worse somehow.

“But when you opened things up,” Tom went on, “even if it was for your benefit... I realized something. I don’t have to orbit you anymore. I have my own gravity now.”

Shiv stared at the floor for a moment. Then at the woman.

“Did you know him? Back then?” she asked.

The woman nodded. “A little. Not well.”

“He used to be so... desperate,” Shiv said, almost smiling. “Would’ve tattooed my name on his chest if I asked.”

Tom exhaled slowly, lips pressed tight.

“And now look,” Shiv continued. “You’ve upgraded. No sharp corners. No long knives in the dark. Just... gentle eyes and a fucking nursery, I assume?”

The woman didn’t flinch. “We’re not competing.”

“You’re winning.”

Tom stepped forward. “Shiv.”

“No—it’s fine,” she said, hands up, half-laughing.