You Stayed With Us

Third Trimester

Jennie's POV

There are two undeniable truths in my life right now:

1. I love Lisa, Ella, and the babies inside me.
2. I absolutely, with every cell in my body, despise the third trimester.

I'm thirty weeks along with twin boys, and let me tell you, there is nothing "soft and glowing" about me anymore. My ankles are the size of rice cakes, my back has divorced me emotionally, and if one more person tells me I'm "all belly," I might throw my entire body at them. Very slowly. Because I can't move fast anymore.

Lisa's been a saint. Truly. The kind of partner you think only exists in idealistic indie films. She's taken over every chore—cooking, laundry, making sure Ella's homework folder is signed—and yet somehow, she still looks at me like I'm magic even when I'm in her old T-shirt, hair in a bun, and eating kimchi directly from the container at 10 a.m.

Right now, I'm lying on the couch in our living room, which Lisa and Ella have turned into a part-time maternity sanctuary and part-time blanket fort. My belly takes up most of the real estate on my lap, and the twins are having what I think is a synchronized stretching session. Baby A seems to be practicing his kicks on my ribs, and Baby B? He's made himself at home on my bladder.

I glance at the clock. 5:27 PM. Which means Lisa should be—

The sound of pots clattering in the kitchen makes me wince.

Never mind. She's already home. And she's cooking.

That's never a good sign.

I try not to laugh as I watch from the couch. Lisa is standing in front of the stove, face serious, brows furrowed, wielding a wooden spoon like she's facing off against an enemy. There's a large pot in front of her filled with something that's either kimchi jjigae or a science experiment gone rogue. The smell is there. The technique? Not so much.

Ella is standing on a stool beside her in one of Lisa's oversized aprons, holding a plastic container of tofu like it's precious cargo.

"Dada, do I squish it now?"

"No, no! Be gentle. Tofu is fragile... like your Mommy's patience when I burn the rice again."

I rolled my eyes. "I heard that!"

Lisa turned toward me with the guiltiest smile I've ever seen. "Hi, love! How are the boys?"

"Rowdy," I muttered. "Like you."

She winked. "Can't argue with genetics."

I try to get up to help—genuinely, I do—but my body has other plans. The moment I lean forward, a sharp twinge hits my lower back. I groan and fall back into the pillows.

"Okay, never mind. I'll just supervise from here."

Ella grabs the seaweed flakes and starts enthusiastically shaking them over the bubbling stew. Too enthusiastically.

"Okay, okay, Snow Queen," Lisa says, laughing. "That's enough. They're gonna start growing kelp in their ears."

"More Mommy's favorite!" Ella beams and dumps more in. Tofu, seaweed, and chaos. A classic Kim-Manoban household combo.

Dinner is—somehow—edible.

We sit on the dining table, the boys shifting in my belly as I try to find a position that doesn't crush my spine. Lisa serves me a bowl like she's on MasterChef, waiting for a critique.

I take a cautious bite.

...It's actually not bad. A little salty, and the tofu looks like it's seen better days, but it's warm and comforting, just like her.

"Mmm," I hum, smiling despite myself. "Five stars. Michelin chef. Please marry me."

Lisa grins like she just won a gold medal. "Too late. Already did."

Ella wiggles between us, chewing on her rice and whispering to my stomach, "See, babies? Dada didn't burn dinner today. You're welcome."

After dinner, Lisa insists I rest while she and Ella take care of the rest. I'm not even surprised when I hear clinking, a yelp, and the unmistakable sound of water rushing somewhere it shouldn't.

"Mommy!"

I waddle my way to the bathroom as fast as a heavily pregnant woman possibly can.

The scene is straight out of a sitcom.

Water is sloshing across the floor. Lisa is standing there barefoot, holding a soaked towel like she's just fought a sea monster. Ella is holding the showerhead... which is still running.

"She wanted to 'help' rinse the sink," Lisa explains, hair damp and voice full of defeat. "I turned my back for one second."

"I was making bubbles for the babies!" Ella chirps.

I should be mad. I really should. But standing there in the middle of our bathroom-turned-baby-pool, Lisa looking like a drowned golden retriever and Ella holding a loofah like a wand, something in me cracks open.

I start laughing.

Like, really laughing. That kind of unfiltered, breathless laughter that makes your eyes water and your chest ache. The kind I haven't felt in a long time.

Lisa stares at me, then joins in. Ella too, dancing around in soaked socks.

I lean against the doorframe, holding my belly and wiping at my eyes. "This is ridiculous."

"This is us," Lisa says, grabbing the mop and pretending to knight me with it. "Queen of Chaos and Future Mom of Three."

Ella stands proudly, wrapping her arms around my waist and pressing her ear to my belly. "Don't worry, babies. We got you."

And somehow, through the soreness, the mess, and the exhaustion, I believe her.

Because I do have them.

My little team.

My loud, messy, loving, perfect little team.

And as long as I've got that, I'll survive anything the third trimester throws at me.

Even if it includes flooded bathrooms and over-salted jjigae.