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“To the hospital?”

She nods, rubbing her hand over her face. “I want to see the boys.”

So do I.

The NICU feels softer this morning.

Maybe it’s the sunlight spilling through the blinds, streaking gold across the pale walls. Or maybe it’s the way the nurses are smiling a little wider. Brighter. Hope is a fragile thing in this place—but today, it’s here.

We scrub in, like always. Mya’s hands tremble a little when she ties her gown, and I step in without thinking, looping the strings behind her neck. She glances up at me and I swear—I can feel the thanks in her silence.

Inside, we find them sleeping.

Kody stirs first, his tiny mouth twitching around the pacifier. Kingston is curled like a comma, his chest rising and falling with perfect rhythm. Monitors beep in slow, steady sync, not the rapid-fire alarms that used to spike my anxiety into the stratosphere.

Imani meets us at the incubators. She’s got that calm, no-nonsense look that means she’s about to drop news like it’s gospel.

“They’re doing well,” she says, her voice a little lighter than usual. “Stable breathing, good weight gain. They’re holding their own without oxygen support and have been bottle feeding like champs.”

Mya’s hand flies to her chest. “Wait—are you saying⁠—”

“They’re hitting the milestones we like to see before discharge,” Imani says with a soft smile. “If this trajectory holds, we could be talking about a release date within the next few weeks.”

Mya lets out a sound that’s half gasp, half sob.

And I⁠—

I don’t even try to stop it.

I pull her into me, both of us standing there, arms wrapped tight, faces buried in each other’s shoulders while the boys sleep peacefully behind the glass.

“Few more weeks,” I whisper into her hair.

She nods against me. “We can do that.”

God, we’ve already done more than we thought we could.

And now?

Now we’ve got something we haven’t had in a long damn time.

Hope.

Reese barrels out of the main house like it’s Christmas morning and she just spotted Santa on the porch. Her curls bounce with every step, cheeks flushed with excitement, eyes already glittering with a secret she can’t wait to spill.

“Okay, okay, don’t freak out,” she says before either of us can even open our mouths.

Mya blinks, caught mid-sentence as she was about to ask if we had time to check on the horses before lunch.

Reese claps her hands together and spins on her heel like she’s hosting a game show. “Thorin’s mom and my dad are officially on babysitting duty for the day, which means—” she points at Mya with a grin so wide it looks borderline unhinged, “—you and I are going to Dallas for a spa day. Merry almost-New-Year.”

Mya’s mouth drops open. “Wait. What?”

“You heard me.” Reese wiggles her brows. “Hot stone massage. Full facial. Mani-pedi. Lunch somewhere that doesn’t smell like hay and man sweat. I booked everything. We leave in ten.”

Mya doesn’t say anything right away. Just stares at her like she’s processing if this is a trap. Like maybe there’s a camera crew hiding behind a bale of hay.

So I lean in, brushing a kiss across her cheek, letting my hand linger at the curve of her hip. “Go,” I murmur. “You deserve a day off. I’ll be at the studio anyway—we’re trying to finish the last two tracks before the end of the week.”