Then I see who’s behind her.
Connor.
“Surprise,” Leigh says, a little too brightly, like she already knows this might have been a mistake but she’s committed to it anyway.
I stare at her. Then at him. Then back at her. “Leigh. What the hell?”
“I thought—” she starts, already wincing. “I just thought you might want… support.”
Support. Right.
Connor looks wrecked. There’s something frantic in his eyes, something wired and desperate, like he’s been running on adrenaline and hasn’t come down yet. His gaze moves past me almost immediately, locking onto the bassinets.
And then I’m gone from his attention entirely.
“Oh my God,” he says, stepping into the room like he’s being pulled. “Sage?—”
“No,” I say immediately, because I can already see exactly where this is going. “Connor, wait?—”
He doesn’t.
He goes straight to them. All three of them. His hands hover like he’s afraid to touch anything, his expression shifting from shock to something else—something bigger, brighter, overwhelming in a way that makes my stomach twist.
“They’re—” he starts, his voice breaking. “They’re mine.”
I close my eyes for half a second, because no. “Connor?—”
“It’s a miracle,” he keeps going, like I didn’t say anything at all. “They told me I couldn’t—after the accident, they said?—”
He exhales hard, like he’s been holding that breath for years.
“I thought I’d never—” He lets out a shaky laugh. “Jesus, Sage, I thought my life was just going to be nothing. No legacy, no?—”
“Connor!”
He turns to me, eyes bright, like this is the best thing that’s ever happened to him. “They look like me,” he says, like that settles it. “Don’t they? I mean—look at them?—”
“They’re not yours.” The words come out flat. Blunt. There’s no softness in me right now, no space to cushion it or ease him into the truth.
The room goes still.
Connor stares at me like I just said something completely incomprehensible. Then he laughs. Not because it’s funny, but because it sounds ridiculous to him. “Okay, Sage. I get it. You’re tired. You’re overwhelmed. This is a lot, I know that, but?—”
“I’m not overwhelmed,” I cut in, my voice sharper now. “They’re not yours.”
His expression shifts, not all at once, but enough that something in my chest tightens. “No. That’s not—no. I know they’re mine.”
“You’re wrong,” I say, exhaustion hitting me all over again. “Connor?—”
“I am their father,” he snaps, louder this time, the edge in his voice slicing through the room.
And just like that, all three babies start crying.
“Connor,” Leigh says quickly, stepping forward, her voice low and urgent. “Hey—hey, let’s maybe step out for a second?—”
“I’m not leaving,” he says, not even looking at her. His eyes are still locked on me. “Not when she’s talking like a crazy person.”
I close my eyes for a second. Just one. Because I am too tired for this. Too sore. Too everything. “Leigh,” I say, opening them again. “You brought him in. You get him out.”
