I looked at Travis. “He’s been amazing.”

Travis shrugged. “We’re a team.”

“And you’re officially cleared,” the OB added. “Take your time easing into things. And I mean everything.”

Travis grinned. “She means don’t sprint. Emotionally or—uh—otherwise.”

I snorted. “You’re so subtle.”

The doctor laughed and left us with our discharge info and instructions. We gathered up our things, Baylor still half-asleep in Travis’s arms.

Walking out of the clinic, I took a deep breath, feeling lighter—not just physically, but emotionally. “Well… I’m officially not broken anymore.”

Travis bumped my hip with his. “You were never broken. Just slightly dismantled.”

I smiled. “That feels right.”

We got to the car, and I turned to him as he clicked Baylor in. “Okay, but real question—if we stop for coffee, Austin’s gonna be fine, right?”

Travis grinned. “He’s probably teaching Lily how to make espresso and Mira how to dial 911 just in case.”

“…So definitely coffee, then.”

“Definitely,” he said. “We survived the first six weeks. That deserves caffeine.”

And it did. Every drop.

We pulled into the coffee shop drive-thru, both of us running on fumes and about two hours of sleep between us. Baylor had finally knocked out in the backseat, bundled in a soft blue sleeper with his little hat pulled halfway down his forehead.

It was the first time we were out in public without Mira or Lily since he was born, and it felt weirdly quiet. Peaceful.

Travis looked over at me as we inched forward in line. “This is the calmest it’s been in weeks.”

“Which means we probably just jinxed it,” I said, sipping from my water bottle.

Sure enough, as soon as we rolled down the window to order, Baylor let out a tiny warning squeak from the back. Travis glanced in the rearview mirror, but didn’t seem too concerned.

Then came the full cry. Loud. Guttural. The kind of newborn cry that hit the ears like an alarm.

“Oh no,” I muttered, twisting around to check on him, but he was just fussing, not in distress. “He’s okay, just mad.”

The barista popped her head out of the window with a smile that immediately faltered. “Hi! Um… sorry, did I just hear a baby?”

Travis gave me a slow look.

I swallowed. “Uh. Yeah. That’s ours.”

She blinked. “Wait. Yours as in… yours? Like you have a baby in the backseat?”

I opened my mouth. Then closed it. Then smiled, because clearly, the secret was up.

“We do,” I said, voice quiet but sure. “His name’s Baylor. He’s six weeks old.”

She gasped, then caught herself. “I’m so sorry—I didn’t mean to, like, eavesdrop. That just… wasn’t public knowledge.”

“We’ve been keeping it private,” Travis said easily, giving her that calm, grounded grin that somehow softened the moment. “It’s been a wild couple of months.”

The girl nodded, her eyes wide with surprise but full of warmth. “Well, congrats. He’s got a great cry. You want your usual drinks?”

“Please,” I breathed out, laughing softly. “And anything you have with sugar.”

Invisible String Onde histórias criam vida. Descubra agora