Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Two weeks. It had been exactly two weeks since Emily had accidentally waddled back into Andrea’s life.

Not that Emily was counting the days, of course. She absolutely was not. She simply happened to possess a functional calendar, and it had been precisely fourteen solar cycles since she had made a complete, unmitigated fool of herself in a cramped Brooklyn coffee shop while looking approximately the physical size and shape of a detached, two-story bungalow. Completely, entirely, utterly unrelated.

In those two weeks, they had met for lunch twice.

Both times, Bronwyn had attended. Not because Emily lacked high-end Manhattan childcare, her regular nanny had recovered from food poisoning forty-eight hours later, but because the second Bronwyn overheard her mother mention the name Andrea, she had looked up from her crayons with all the desperate urgency of a Victorian orphan hearing the words free roast beef.

"Andy?"

"Yes, darling."

"Andy coming?"

"...If she accepts my invitation, yes, sweet pea."

"I WAN' ANDY!”

And that, as they say, was that. Emily had learned exceptionally fast that attempting to reason with a two-year-old was functionally identical to negotiating nuclear disarmament with a tiny, stubborn dictator in smocked Dior.

The first lunch had gone... surprisingly well.

Andy had arrived carrying a beautifully illustrated picture book she’d spotted in a tiny West Village independent shop, purely because she had remembered Emily mentioning, in passing, that Bronwyn was currently obsessed with ducks.

Emily had tried very hard not to dwell on the terrifying fact that Andrea remembered offhand details like that.

Bronwyn had adored the duck book. She had then, halfway through their salads, climbed directly onto Andy’s lap.

Emily had opened her mouth to apologise for her daughter’s total lack of personal boundaries, but before she could speak, Bronwyn had let out an enormous, theatrical yawn, curled her sticky self into a ball against Andy’s chest, and fallen asleep. Out cold.

Emily had stared. Andy had stared. The bistro waiter had smiled so fondly at the pair of them that Emily had nearly asked him to cease his facial expressions immediately.

"She... doesn't usually do that with strangers," Emily had whispered, eyeing her daughter's dead-to-the-world expression.

Andy had looked equally bewildered, one hand awkwardly supporting the sleeping toddler's back as if holding a piece of unexploded ordnance. "I don't think I've ever held a sleeping child in my life."

"...Really?"

"I once held my cousin's baby," Andy admitted softly, her dark eyes crinkling.

"And how did that go?"

"I was informed by three horrified aunts that I was supporting his spine upside down."

Emily had laughed. A loud, sudden, genuine laugh that startled both of them so thoroughly the waiter almost dropped a tray of espresso cups.

The second lunch, however, had gone... differently.

Bronwyn had consumed an amount of high-fructose chocolate milk that should, by all modern medical standards, have been classified as a biohazard. She had then spent twenty uninterrupted, terrifying minutes sprinting through an uptown Italian establishment while Andy, God help her foolish soul, joined in the chase under the misguided assumption that tiring out a toddler was an achievable goal.

Emily, currently eight months pregnant and wisely conserving her remaining metabolic energy, had remained seated at the table.

"I do hope you realise," she had called out as Andy jogged past, "that you are actively enabling a tiny lunatic."

Andy had flashed a brilliant, dimpled grin over her shoulder. "I've got this, Em!"

"You most certainly do not."

Three minutes later.

Bronwyn stopped dead in her tracks. Her little face pinched into a frown. She looked up at Andy with enormous, glossy brown eyes. "...Uh-oh."

Then, with zero warning, she violently vomited chocolate milk. All over Andy’s crisp, pristine white trainers.

For one horrific heartbeat, the entire restaurant froze.

Then—"Oh, darling!"

Emily was out of her chair before her brain even processed that her swollen ankles had moved. "Mummy's here, sweet pea—"

She was on her knees in an instant, one hand gently cupping Bronwyn's chin, the other rubbing warm, soothing circles over her small back. “Sweetheart, are you alright? Look at Mummy."

Bronwyn's lower lip quivered violently. "I sowwy..."

"Oh, no, no, my darling." Emily gently smoothed damp curls away from the child's sweating forehead. "Don't apologise, love. It's alright. Mummy’s got you."

She checked Bronwyn's forehead with her wrist. Cool. No fever. Just a sugar-induced gastrointestinal revolt.

"Does your tummy feel better now?"

A tiny, sniffly nod.

Emily’s face softened into something impossibly tender. "Oh, my poor sweet baby..."

Only then did she remember the collateral damage. Emily looked down. The white sneakers. The catastrophic, milky brown puddle.

"Oh, God." Emily's face drained of colour. She looked up at Andy in pure, horrified agony. "Andrea, I am so, so sorry."

"Em, it's fine—"

"No, it is unequivocally not fine! Those are completely ruined!"

"They're just shoes—"

"They are limited-edition!"

"I got them on sale!"

"I don't care if you dug them out of a dumpster!" Emily was already frantically digging through Bronwyn's diaper bag like a woman hunting for a bomb disarming kit. "There are wet wipes in here somewhere, I swear to God—"

"Em."

"I am replacing them immediately. What size are you? A seven?"

"You don't have to buy me shoes—"

"I absolutely do!"

"Emily. Look at me."

Emily finally snapped her head up, holding a packet of baby wipes like a weapon.

“It’s alright.” Andy was smiling. 

Not because she enjoyed having her footwear drenched in spoiled chocolate milk, well, perhaps a little bit for the absurdity of it, but mostly because... This version of Emily Charlton was so astonishingly, breathtakingly unfamiliar. 

The Emily Andy had known ten years ago would have recoiled in utter, apocalyptic horror from vomit. She would have summoned a manager, made a scathing remark about public hygiene, declared the day completely unsalvageable, and fled in a cab.

Instead, this Emily had crossed a restaurant in two seconds flat without giving her own high-fashion clothes a single thought. She had gone straight to her daughter, holding her, soothing her, and hadn't even looked at the ruined designer shoes until she was 100% certain Bronwyn was okay. Everything else in the universe had come second to that little girl.

Andy wasn't sure she had ever seen Emily put another human being first with such effortless, fierce instinct. It wasn't strange. If anything... it suited her terrifyingly well. There was something unexpectedly, deeply beautiful about watching Emily smooth Bronwyn's hair back, murmuring gentle reassurances in that clipped English accent Andy had once associated exclusively with brutal insults and impossible deadlines.

Now, that same voice was whispering: "You're alright, my sweet," and "Mummy's got you." Warm. Steady. Unshakeable.

Andy had found herself smiling right through the stench of sour milk. Somehow... she liked this Emily even more than the untouchable fashion icon she had spent a decade trying to erase from her mind.

-

Now, two weeks later, Emily faced a completely open, child-free weekend. Or supposedly. 

Ordinarily, this weekend would have been Frank the Narcissist’s problem. Shared custody, after all, was supposed to mean shared responsibility. 

Instead, at 8:00 AM, her phone had buzzed with a text from him:

Frank: Can't take Bronwyn this weekend. Travelling. Business.

Emily had stared at the screen for ten cold seconds before locking her phone. Typical. Business meant a weekend trip to Miami with a twenty-one-year-old fitness influencer named Bambi. She wasn't disappointed. Honestly, she preferred Bronwyn spend her childhood around people who actually seemed enthused by her existence.

Still, it left her with an unexpectedly open-but-with-child Saturday. Which brought her back to... The Envelope.

It had happened on Friday. Emily had been walking a major European buyer out of the Dior showroom after two exhausting hours of debating spring launches and a truly offensive shade of beige the buyer insisted was "the shade of next season." (Emily maintained it was the exact colour of cold, coagulated oatmeal.)

As they reached the lifts, the client had paused, clapping her hands together. "Oh! I nearly forgot!"

She reached into her Birkin and produced a glossy envelope. Emily accepted it with refined, polite confusion. "For me?"

"A little token of appreciation for pushing the shipping dates."

"That was hardly necessary—"

"Nonsense!" The light doors dinged open. The woman stepped inside with a beaming smile. "I hope you and your family enjoy them!"

The doors slid shut.

Emily frowned at the stainless steel. "...Family?"

She ripped open the seal. Inside sat three brightly coloured, metallic passes to Legoland New York.

Emily blinked. Once. Twice. Three passes?

She looked down at her own massive, protruding stomach. The unborn baby chose that exact moment to land a swift kick straight to her liver. There was absolutely zero physical possibility anyone could mistake her for having already delivered baby number two.

So. Three passes.

Emily began systematically eliminating possibilities. Perhaps the client assumed Emily was still married to Frank? Unlikely. Emily had corrected her marital status four separate times this fiscal year. Perhaps she forgot about the divorce? Possible. People possessed an alarming capacity to forget traumatic events that didn't directly affect their own lives. Or... Emily's left eye twitched. Perhaps she assumed Emily had acquired a new romantic partner.

"...How absurdly optimistic of her," Emily muttered to the empty corridor.

Her assistant, Claire, materialised beside her like a ghost from seemingly nowhere. She peeked over Emily's shoulder. "Oh! Three tickets to Legoland! How nice!"

"I am capable of basic counting, Claire."

"I just mean... it's a sweet gesture."

Emily held up three fingers. "There are three tickets."

"Yes..."

"I am one person."

"You are."

"Bronwyn is person number two."

"Mhm."

Emily held up another finger, pointing at it with deep, burning suspicion. "...Who, I wonder, is the mystery guest?"

Claire blinked, her brain short-circuiting. "...The... baby?"

Emily stared at her assistant with unblinking, icy judgment. "The seven-and-a-half-month fetus is not going on the Lego-themed ride, Claire."

Claire had the decency to blush. "...Fair point."

Emily let out a long, theatrical sigh, shoving the envelope into her bag. "What on earth did she expect? That I would strap a newborn to my chest and subject them to centrifugal plastic forces?"

-

Now, standing in her immaculate kitchen while Bronwyn happily smashed strawberries into her high-chair tray, Emily stared at the tickets resting on the marble island.

Well. It would be an absolute tragedy to waste them. Bronwyn adored primary-coloured plastic blocks. She would likely lose her tiny mind.

Emily crouched carefully beside her daughter's chair, her knees popping. "Darling?"

Bronwyn looked up, a strawberry stem stuck to her chin. "Yeah?"

"Would you like to go to Legoland tomorrow?"

Bronwyn’s entire face exploded into divine, blinding joy. "YES!"

Emily smiled, smoothing back a stray curl. "I thought as much."

Bronwyn bounced wildly, her high chair shaking. Then, after precisely half a second of intense toddler deliberation—"...Andy come wif us?"

Emily froze. Her knee joints locked in mid-crouch. "...I beg your pardon?"

"Andy!"

"Yes, I heard the name, sweetheart."

"Wanna Andy!"

Emily closed her eyes, letting out a silent, pained prayer to the gods of haute couture.

Of course. Of course her daughter had bypassed every logical, sensible possibility and gone straight to inviting the woman Emily definitely, absolutely, categorically did not still harbour embarrassing, ten-year-old romantic feelings for. Wonderful. Phenomenal. Cosmic sabotage.

Emily opened her eyes. "...Why on earth would Andy come to Legoland with us, Bunny?"

Bronwyn looked down at her mother as though Emily had just asked why the sky was blue, with absolute, crushing pity for her mother's utter lack of basic intelligence.

"'Cause Andy nice."

Emily opened her mouth to construct a sharp, logical counter-argument. She closed it again. Well. How precisely was one supposed to argue with that?

Emily stared at the third metallic ticket resting on her marble kitchen counter for another full minute. Then another.

This was utterly, completely ridiculous. She was a thirty-three-year-old high-fashion executive. She negotiated multi-million-pound luxury contracts before her morning espresso. She had once, with nothing more than an icy glare and a tilt of her chin, made an entire room of European CEOs agree to delay a global autumn launch because she disliked the hemline stitching on three coats.

She could make one simple, casual phone call. It was just... a phone call. Nothing more. Nothing less. A logistical query between two functional adults. ...So why, would anyone care to explain, was her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird?

She narrowed her eyes at the primary-coloured Lego logo printed on the ticket. This was Andrea's fault. Entirely, unequivocally Andrea Sachs's fault for possessing those absurdly warm brown eyes, that stupidly charming laugh, and a sudden, alarming habit of showing up in Emily’s life looking effortlessly gorgeous.

Before her brain could overthink her into shoving the tickets into the back of a drawer forever, Emily snatched her phone off the counter and tapped Andy’s contact before she could lose her nerve.

One ring. Two—

"Hi, Em."

Emily blinked, her breath catching in her throat. "...You answered rather quickly."

A short pause on the line. "I did, didn't I?"

"You did."

"Hm." Andy sounded suspiciously, deeply amused. 

Emily’s brows drew together into a protective frown. "Were you... waiting by the phone for someone?"

Another beat of silence, quiet and charged.

"Something like that," Andy murmured softly.

Emily decided, for the sake of her own fragile sanity and elevated heart rate, not to examine that answer too closely. "Hm."

"Hm."

"..."

"..."

Andy broke first, letting out a warm laugh that sent an unwelcome shiver down Emily’s spine. "So."

"So."

"Was there an official reason for this call, or did you just miss the sound of my voice?"

"Oh. Right." Emily straightened her spine instinctively, squaring her shoulders as though Andy were standing directly in front of her in her kitchen. "Frank has once again demonstrated why basic human decency remains an elusive concept to him."

"...Good morning to you too," Andy chuckled. "What did he do?"

"He cancelled his weekend with Bronwyn. Claims he's 'busy' in Miami."

Andy sighed softly into the receiver, the humour instantly draining from her voice. "I'm sorry, Em. That really sucks."

Emily shrugged, leaning her hip against the marble island, though Andy couldn't see the movement. "I would far rather Bronwyn remain here with me than spend forty-eight hours wondering whether her father remembers she exists."

There was a brief silence on the line.

Andy didn't rush in with cheap, hollow reassurances. She didn't offer a clichéd "I'm sure he loves her." She didn't defend Frank. She simply listened, letting the weight of Emily's fiercely protective motherhood sit comfortably in the air.

Emily appreciated that far more than she would ever admit out loud.

"So," Andy said eventually, her voice turning lighter, "what are you two ladies doing with your sudden free weekend instead?"

"Well." Emily glanced toward the breakfast nook, where Bronwyn was currently attempting to stack blueberries into a wildly unstable, structural tower. "I remembered a rather absurd incident that occurred yesterday at the showroom."

And before her pride could step in to stop her, Emily launched into the entire, tragicomic story. The client. The glossy envelope. The mysterious, offensive third pass.

"The woman looked directly at my midsection," Emily declared indignantly, "while I was carrying what can only be described as an extremely visible, highly aggressive human foetus!"

Andy let out a loud snort over the phone. "So, either she genuinely believes you've secretly given birth in a closet—"

"Biologically impossible."

"—or she completely forgot about your divorce."

"Severely questionable."

"Or..."

Emily groaned, pinching her forehead. "Precisely."

Andy was laughing openly now, bright and infectious. "No, go on! Say it!"

"I refuse to entertain the third, highly romanticised possibility."

"You don't even know what I was going to say, Em."

"I do."

"You do?"

"I do."

Andy’s laughter filled the earpiece, warm and intimate. Emily hated, hated, how pleased that sound made her feel deep in her stomach.

"So..." Andy prompted, her voice dripping with lingering amusement.

"So." Emily took a deep, steadying breath, clutching the phone tightly. "There are three tickets."

"Mhm."

"And Frank has cancelled."

"Mhm."

"And Bronwyn would very much enjoy Legoland."

"Mhm."

"So I wondered..." Emily's usual ironclad confidence began evaporating with alarming, catastrophic speed. "If you..."

"..."

"...would perhaps..."

"..."

"...like to..."

The silence on the other end of the line was deafening. Emily could practically hear the massive, dimpled grin spreading across Andy’s face.

"...Come?" Andy supplied gently, practically purring the word.

Emily squeezed her eyes shut in mortification. "Yes."

Another long silence. Then—

"You'd like me to come with you?"

Emily’s eyes flew open. "What? No!"

"You want me there?"

"I did not say that!"

"...Emily."

"I merely stated that there are three physical tickets in my possession!"

"You invited me, Em."

"I presented a casual, low-stakes entertainment opportunity!"

Andy made a slow, thoughtful humming noise that set Emily’s blood on fire. "So... you do want me there."

Emily felt her cheeks beginning to violently overheat. "No."

"...No?"

"No."

"..."

"..."

"Bronwyn does."

"Oh?"

"Entirely Bronwyn," Emily insisted, seizing upon the child like a defense attorney presenting smoking-gun evidence. "It was completely her idea."

"It was?"

"It was."

Andy was grinning so hard it was altering her vocal cords. Emily hated that she could recognise that specific tone.

"One moment," Emily muttered. She pulled the phone away from her ear. "Bronwyn!"

The toddler looked up from her sticky blueberry tower, her nose smeared with purple juice. "Mm?"

"Come here, sweet pea."

Bronwyn slid off her wooden chair and toddled over on her chubby legs. Emily crouched down, with considerably more effort and a low grunt than she would have liked, to meet her at eye level.

"Would you like to tell Andy whose idea this Legoland excursion was?"

Bronwyn’s little face instantly exploded into a blinding, ecstatic beam. "ANDY!"

Emily held the phone toward her daughter's face. "Go on."

Tiny, sticky hands grabbed the expensive smartphone with terrifying confidence. "Andy?"

"Hi, Bronwyn!" Andy's voice bubbled warmly through the speaker.

"We go Lego!"

"I heard! That sounds amazing."

"You come wif us?"

There was a tiny, deliberate pause on Andy’s end. "Do you want me to come, Bunny?"

"YES!"

"So much?"

"Sooooo much!" Bronwyn bounced excitedly on her little feet, her brown curls flying everywhere. "Pease, Andy? Pease?"

Andy laughed, a rich, soft sound. "Well... I suppose if I'm being personally, officially invited by the boss—"

"YAY!"

Bronwyn didn't even bother waiting for Andy to finish the sentence. She let out a shriek of pure triumph so high-pitched that Emily was fairly certain several neighbourhood dogs down on the street had just barked in alarm.

She thrust the phone violently back into Emily's stomach before sprinting off toward the living room to celebrate by spinning in violent, nonsensical circles until she fell over onto the rug.

Emily slowly brought the phone back to her ear, listening to the echoing sound of delighted toddler giggles bouncing off the hardwood floors.

"...She is frighteningly persuasive," Andy observed softly.

Emily pressed two fingers to the bridge of her nose, letting out a long, suffering sigh. "I have begun to notice."

"So."

"So."

"I'd love to come, Em."

Emily’s lips twitched. Before she could stop herself, a small,  helpless smile broke across her face, the specific, rare sort of smile she never allowed anyone to see.

"...Wonderful."

Andy went quiet for a beat. When she spoke again, her voice had dropped low, laced with a soft, undeniable warmth that made the air in Emily's kitchen feel suddenly very thick. "I'm really looking forward to it."

Emily’s smile grew just a fraction wider, her thumb tracing the edge of the sleek marble counter.

"...Bronwyn will be pleased."

Andy let out the tiniest, knowing laugh. "Mhm."

Neither of them felt the need to acknowledge that Bronwyn was, quite obviously, not the only Charlton girl who was thrilled.

-

The following morning, Emily regretted everything.

Not Legoland itself. Not inviting Andrea. Certainly not Bronwyn's unrestrained, explosive enthusiasm.

No. She regretted agreeing to leave her climate-controlled apartment while possessing the exact dimensions of a respectable suburban conservatory.

A very, very different thing.

The bright July sunshine streamed through the tinted privacy glass of the town car as Manhattan drifted lazily past outside. Emily occupied the rear passenger seat beside Bronwyn's car seat, one hand resting protectively over the enormous, impossibly taut curve of her stomach.

The loose, floral linen dress she’d chosen that morning had been selected after an unusually hostile, thirty-minute negotiation with her walk-in wardrobe. Nothing fitted anymore. Not properly. Even her beloved Dior pieces had officially crossed the threshold from effortlessly elegant expectant mother into luxury marquee with sleeves.

This particular dress, at the very least, floated. Unfortunately, it floated around a bump so spectacularly, aggressively prominent that Emily suspected maritime satellites could identify her silhouette from low orbit.

The baby shifted heavily beneath her palm, landing a sharp, authoritative elbow straight into her ribs.

"I know," Emily murmured under her breath, staring out the window.

Another sharp kick.

"I agree. This entire arrangement is terribly inconvenient."

"Mummy?"

Emily glanced sideways. Bronwyn was strapped securely into her car seat, wearing tiny Ralph Lauren denim overalls over a crisp white t-shirt embroidered with yellow ducks. She looked absurdly, offensively wholesome. Her tiny white trainers were kicking excited, rhythmic thuds against the leather seat.

"We go Lego?"

"We are going to Lego, yes."

"Now?"

"Yes, my darling."

"And Andy?"

Emily let out a small sigh. "Yes."

"And Andy coming?"

"...Still yes, Bunny."

Bronwyn practically vibrated against her harness, her cheeks flushed pink. "See Andy!"

"I had gathered."

"I hug Andy."

"I suspected as much."

"I show Andy blocks."

"I'm certain she will be absolutely thrilled."

"I show Andy dragon."

"Mhm."

"I show Andy EVERYTHING!"

Emily looked heavenward, silently praying for strength. Poor Andrea. The child had spent the better part of forty-eight hours discussing literally nothing except the impending Legoland expedition and the divine fact that Andy would be accompanying them. Emily was beginning to suspect she had accidentally created a monster. Or perhaps merely facilitated one.

Emily shifted carefully in her seat, trying to find an angle that didn't pinch her lower back. An immediate, searing bolt of discomfort shot straight across her pelvis.

"...Ow."

Eight months pregnant. One completely forgot how profoundly, brutally unpleasant the simple act of sitting could become. Standing hurt. Walking hurt. Sleeping required the logistical planning of a NATO military operation. Rolling over in bed now occurred in approximately six separate stages, each accompanied by involuntary groans Emily firmly believed should remain strictly private. Motherhood. Utterly, glamorous.

She reached down with some effort to adjust the thick strap of the ludicrously oversized leather nappy bag resting at her feet.

God. She was going to have to haul that monstrosity across a theme park. The bag itself weighed approximately as much as a fully grown medium-sized Labrador.

Inside lived an entire survival shelter:

• Three changes of clothes.
• Emergency snacks.
• Emergency emergency snacks.
• Wet wipes, dry wipes, and antibacterial wipes.
• SPF 50 suncream.
• Four pairs of tiny spare socks
• A plush stuffed rabbit named Bunny.
• Three juice cartons.
• An EpiPen.
• A crumpled packet of organic raisins that Bronwyn would almost certainly refuse to eat on principle.

Emily stared at the bag with deep, simmering resentment. Once upon a time, she had refused to carry anything larger than a Chanel clutch. Now she routinely transported enough supplies to survive a small-scale nuclear winter.

"...Elegance really has completely abandoned me," Emily muttered to the seatbelt.

"Mummy?"

"Hm?"

"You talking."

"I am."

"To who?"

"To myself, darling."

"Oh."

Bronwyn accepted this immediately. Apparently, mothers having full, unprompted conversations with themselves required zero further explanation.

The driver caught Emily's eyes briefly in the rear-view mirror. "We're nearly at the pickup point, Ms Charlton."

"Thank you, Peter."

The heavy town car slowed smoothly toward the curb along the Street. Emily leaned forward, peering out the tinted glass, and spotted Andrea instantly.

Andy was waiting right on the corner, exactly where Emily had told her to be. She was dressed in relaxed navy jeans, a simple white graphic t-shirt, sunglasses pushed up into her dark hair, and a canvas tote slung casually over one shoulder.

Simple. Comfortable. Completely devoid of high-fashion pretense. Totally unlike anyone Emily usually associated with her social circle, and very much unlike anyone Emily had ever found herself completely unable to stop staring at. Andy looked... happy. The sort of effortless, radiant warmth that seemed to follow her everywhere now.

Emily's traitorous stomach fluttered violently. Which was ridiculous. Because the baby chose that exact second to land a heavy, violent kick against her bladder.

"...Right," Emily muttered, wincing slightly. "Not butterflies. Definitely a kicking child."

"MUMMY!"

Emily barely had time to brace herself. Bronwyn had spotted Andy through the glass. The resulting squeal was so ear-splittingly high-pitched that Peter the driver visibly flinched behind the steering wheel.

"ANDYYYYYYYY!"

"Oh, good Lord." Emily leaned forward, mortified. "Peter, I am terribly, terribly sorry about your eardrums."

Peter offered a calm, weathered smile in the mirror. "I'm a grandfather of four, Ms Charlton. I was deafened in 2014."

Emily blinked. "...How have I never known this?"

"You've never asked."

"...Fair point."

Outside, Andy looked up at the sound of the car idling. The second her dark eyes locked onto the rear window, her entire face lit into the sort of blinding, dimpled smile Emily found increasingly, dangerously unfair.

Andy waved.

Bronwyn lost what remained of her tiny, fragile toddler mind. "HI ANDYYYYY!"

Andy was already laughing before the town car had even come to a complete stop. Peter climbed out smoothly to open the front passenger door.

"Morning!" Andy said brightly, sliding into the front seat. She smelled faintly of vanilla and crisp summer air.

She had barely closed the heavy door before—

"ANDY!"

Emily heard the sharp, unmistakable click of plastic buckle tension, followed immediately by the horrifying sound of Bronwyn attempting to violently unclip her own safety harness.

"No, no, no—Bronwyn, stop that this instant!"

Tiny, chubby arms stretched desperately over the centre console toward the front headrest. "I GO ANDY!"

Andy twisted around in her seat immediately. "Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold on, sweetheart!"

She reached back with both hands, gently catching Bronwyn’s wriggling wrists before the child could perform what Emily assumed was a wildly unsafe mid-transit leap into the front seat. "We've got to stay buckled in, Bunny. Car rules."

"Wanna hug!" Bronwyn demanded, her lower lip sticking out.

"HUG NOW."

Andy offered a smile of saintly, patience, her fingers lightly tapping Bronwyn’s tiny knuckles. "I promise you’ll get the biggest, mega-hug in the entire world the exact second Peter parks the car. Deal?"

Bronwyn considered this proposition. Her small, blueberry-stained face scrunched up with immense, visible cognitive effort. "...Big hug?" she negotiated suspiciously.

"The biggest hug," Andy confirmed solemnly.

"...Otay." Bronwyn collapsed back against her car seat with a dramatic sigh of total defeat.

Emily sat frozen, staring between Andy and her daughter in absolute, stunned silence. "...How?" she asked quietly, her voice clipped.

Andy glanced over her shoulder, her dark eyes sparkling. "What?"

"How on earth did you accomplish that?" Emily demanded. "I have been attempting diplomatic negotiations with that child for two long years, and she treats my authority like a gentle suggestion."

Andy grinned, her dimples deepening. "I had a remarkably strong bargaining position."

Bronwyn nodded solemnly from the back seat, staring at Andy like a disciple. "Big hug."

"See?" Andy winked at Emily. "Leverage."

Emily let out a long theatrical sigh, leaning her head back against the headrest. "Fabulous. I've been officially replaced by a journalist."

"I don't think that's true," Andy murmured, her gaze lingering on Emily's face for a second too long.

"Mummy."

Emily softened instantly, looking down. "Yes, my sweet?"

"I hug you too."

Emily’s sharp, protective expression melted away entirely. "...Thank you, darling."

A tiny, warm hand reached across the space between them as far as the car seat straps would allow. Emily leaned over, grunting softly as her stomach pressed against the seatbelt, and gently squeezed Bronwyn’s fingers.

"There," Emily whispered. "Happy now?"

"Yep."

The town car pulled smoothly into the downtown traffic. For the next ten minutes, Bronwyn happily narrated literally every object, vehicle, and animal that passed by her window.

"Bus."

"Mm-hm," Andy supplied from the front.

"Doggy!"

"I see him, Bunny."

"BIG bus!"

"It certainly is."

"Red car."

"A very fast red car," Andy agreed.

Eventually, the rapid-fire toddler commentary began to slow. The energetic, rhythmic kicking against the seat cushion eased.

Emily looked sideways. Bronwyn's heavy head had tipped gently to one side against the plush padding of her car seat. One tiny fist was still loosely clutching the strap of her denim overalls. Fast asleep. Out cold.

Andy noticed the sudden silence at the exact same moment. She turned slightly in her seat, peering over the headrest with a soft expression. "...Already?"

Emily smiled despite herself, her voice dropping to a gentle whisper. "She exhausted herself through sheer anticipation."

Andy looked back at the peacefully snoring toddler. "She was fighting so hard to stay awake."

"She always does," Emily murmured fondly. "She considers sleep a personal insult."

A quiet comfortable hush settled over the interior of the car. The morning sun flickered through the tinted windows as Manhattan rolled past. Emily reached over, gently brushing a soft brown curl away from Bronwyn’s sleeping forehead.

"...Well," Emily whispered, her voice laced with dry relief. "That is one major toddler crisis successfully postponed."

Andy let out a soft, warm laugh, twisting fully around in her seat to face Emily. "And now?"

Emily leaned back against her seat with a grateful sigh, her palm automatically returning to the warm, round underside of her bump.

"...Now," Emily said, looking directly into Andy’s dark, attentive eyes, "for the very first time all morning..."

"...I believe I can actually finish a sentence without being interrupted by a demand for juice."

Andy leaned her chin on her hand atop the  seatback, her smile soft, warm, and unwaveringly focused on Emily.

"So."

"So."

The gentle rhythm of the town car settled into something pleasantly hypnotic.

Outside, Manhattan drifted past in flashes of brownstone brick, leafy summer trees, and impatient yellow taxis. And inside... peace. Remarkable, miraculous, highly improbable peace.

Bronwyn snored softly behind them in her car seat, her little thumb tucked securely against her lip. Emily wasn't convinced she had ever heard a sweeter sound in her life.

Andy twisted slightly in the front passenger seat, one elbow resting against the centre console so she could face Emily without completely craning her neck.

"So," Andy smiled, her dark eyes crinkling at the corners. "How was your week, Em?"

Emily exhaled a long dramatic breath. "Long. Indescribably long."

"I figured."

"I spent three hours on Tuesday debating the precise shade of cream for next autumn's outerwear collection."

Andy’s mouth twitched. "...That sounds immensely important."

"It wasn't."

"No?"

"It was cream, Andrea."

Andy laughed, a low, warm sound.

"It was," Emily continued with grave, unblinking seriousness, "a slightly warmer cream."

"Oh."

"Apparently, this microscopic distinction warranted seventeen separate fabric swatches and a twenty-minute shouting match in French."

"I'm learning so much about haute couture."

"You really should take notes." Emily folded her hands neatly over the enormous, prominent curve of her stomach. "Then there was a European supplier who assured me a shipment delay of four full weeks constituted 'excellent news.'"

Andy winced. "...How on earth is a four-week delay excellent news?"

"'Because originally, mademoiselle, it was going to be six.'"

"Oh."

"Exactly."

Andy burst into laughter again, shaking her head. 

"And how about you?" Emily asked, leaning back against her seat.

Andy leaned back as well, relaxing into the leather. "A little less glamorous, I'm afraid."

"I somehow deeply doubt investigative journalism is glamorous."

"It isn't." Andy grinned. "I spent Monday afternoon interviewing a man in Washington Square Park who insists, with absolute conviction, that New York pigeons are actually government surveillance drones."

Emily blinked. "...I beg your pardon?"

"He had diagrams, Em."

"No."

"He brought a colour-coded binder."

Emily stared at her for a long unblinking moment before pressing two fingers to the bridge of her nose. "...Andrea."

"I know."

"I genuinely do not know how you manage to keep a straight face during those things."

"I didn't."

"You laughed in his face?"

"I tried to hold it in and accidentally sneezed into my notebook."

Emily’s shoulders shook with helpless laughter.

"I've also spent most of the week rewriting the exact same article," Andy added, "because apparently every senior editor has a completely different, subjective definition of making a story 'more human.'"

Emily hummed in deep, professional sympathy. "That phrase should be universally outlawed."

"Thank you!"

"It means absolutely nothing."

"It really doesn't."

Andy smiled, her expression softening as she looked at Emily. "It's nice, though."

Emily looked faintly surprised, her copper brows lifting. "...What is?"

"Hearing about your work."

"I assumed discussions regarding textile supply chains and shipping logistics would bore you completely senseless."

Andy shrugged, her eyes lingering on Emily’s face. "They're interesting because they're yours."

The words slipped out before Andy had really considered the weight behind them.

Emily's eyes flickered up, catching Andy's gaze. For just a second, the breath caught in her throat. "...Oh."

Andy suddenly found the brownstones passing outside the passenger window profoundly fascinating. "I mean..." She cleared her throat quickly, a faint blush creeping up her neck. "It's just nice hearing what you've been up to."

Emily's mouth twitched with a soft, knowing smirk. "I understood what you meant, Andrea."

The heat climbed straight into Andy's cheeks. Wonderful. Absolutely fantastic.

The conversation drifted naturally after that, flowing with an ease that felt unearned after a decade of silence. Work melted into weekend plans. Weekends shifted to groceries. Groceries somehow landed squarely on the topic of cooking.

Andy groaned dramatically, covering her face with one hand. "I tried making mushroom risotto on Wednesday."

Emily's eyebrows rose in immediate, refined judgment. "Voluntarily?"

"It looked easy on YouTube!"

"It is unequivocally not easy."

"It became... glue, Em. Industrial-grade wallpaper paste."

Emily laughed out loud.

"I followed the recipe!" Andy insisted, gesturing emphatically. "I stirred! I added the broth in slow increments!"

"Mhm."

"I don't know what happened!"

Emily regarded her with mock, dripping sympathy. "You overcooked the rice, Andrea."

"I overcook everything!" Andy threw her hands up. "I'm cursed."

"Andrea—"

"I am! I managed to burn soup last Thursday."

Emily blinked, her brain short-circuiting. "...How?"

"I don't know!"

"Soup is predominantly liquid!"

"I KNOW!"

From the front seat, Peter the driver’s shoulders gave the tiniest shake. Emily was almost certain he was fighting for his life not to laugh out loud.

"I got distracted," Andy confessed sheepishly.

"Doing what?"

"I was reading a draft."

Emily sighed theatrically, shaking her head. "Of course you were."

Andy grinned, rubbing the back of her neck. "So now I own three smoke alarms."

"You purchased additional fire detection technology rather than simply learning basic culinary skills?"

"It felt like the most practical, safety-first solution."

Emily shook her head, though her blue eyes were sparkling. "You really are completely hopeless."

"I am," Andy admitted, smiling softly. "I've been trying, though."

Emily tilted her head, watching her thoughtfully. "What, pray tell, have you mastered?"

Andy paused, thinking carefully. "...Toast."

Emily waited, expecting a list. "...And?"

"...That's literally it."

"Oh, Andrea."

"I'm currently working on pasta!"

Emily actually laughed, a proper, ringing laugh that filled the car.

"I'll teach you," Emily said.

The offer came out so naturally, so casually, that it caught them both off guard.

Andy blinked, her dark eyes wide. "...Really?"

Emily nodded as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. "You simply require someone to explain the concept of timing to you."

"You'd... teach me to cook?"

Emily frowned slightly, her defenses nudging back up. "...Is that terribly strange?"

Andy smiled softly. "A little bit."

"Why?"

Andy hesitated, her gaze dropping for a second before meeting Emily's eyes again. "Because..." She let out a breathless laugh. "I honestly never imagined Emily Charlton standing over a saucepan."

Emily opened her mouth to deliver a sharp retort, hesitated, and slowly looked down at the large, round curve of her stomach. "...Neither did I," the admission came quietly, stripped of all pride. "I couldn't cook a single proper thing when we worked at Runway"

Andy looked genuinely astonished. "You couldn't?"

"I could make herbal tea. And salad.”

"...That was it?"

"I once attempted to make scrambled eggs in my old apartment," Emily confessed, staring out the window.

"And?"

"The pan caught fire. The fire brigade was summoned."

Andy burst into a sudden, loud laugh. "No!"

"It absolutely did!" Emily looked almost offended by the memory. "I was twenty-six years old and living on green juice and panic."

"What changed?" Andy asked gently.

Emily looked out at the passing city. For a moment, her sharp, immaculate expression softened into something wistful, deeply tender.

"...Bronwyn."

Andy waited, not breaking the quiet.

"When she began eating solid foods..." Emily smiled faintly, her eyes warm. "...I realised I couldn't exactly feed an infant rocket salad or takeaway sushi every evening."

"So you learned."

"I had no choice," Emily shrugged one shoulder softly. "My nanny showed me the basics. I actually called Nigel once in a state of absolute hysteria because I couldn't distinguish between coriander and flat-leaf parsley."

Andy laughed so hard a tear prickled at the corner of her eye. "You know..." She looked at Emily, her expression brimming with undeniable warmth. "I really, really love hearing these stories."

Emily flushed slightly, looking almost embarrassed. "They are hardly glamourous, Andrea."

"No."

"They mostly involve scorched vegetables and panicked phone calls."

"I know." Andy’s voice dropped, soft and steady. "But they're yours."

Emily looked away toward the passing buildings, her breath hitching slightly. There was something oddly, profoundly comforting about that. Someone finding ordinary, messy, domestic Emily... utterly fascinating.

A comfortable, lingering silence settled over the interior of the town car.

Andy broke it gently, her tone shifting to something quieter. "So... when are you due, Em?"

Without thinking, Emily's hand drifted protectively over the warm underside of her bump. "About five weeks."

"Five?"

"Mhm."

"That's... so soon."

"It is."

Andy glanced down at the baby moving visibly beneath the linen fabric. As if right on cue, a tiny foot, or elbow; pressed firmly against the cloth, creating a distinct little ridge.

Andy blinked, her eyes widening. "...Was that—"

"He enjoys reminding everyone of his existence," Emily murmured, a faint, tired smile touching her lips.

Andy couldn't help smiling, though her brow furrowed slightly with a quiet thought. "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"What's... the plan?"

Emily knew instantly what she meant. The birth. The hospital. The after.

She went quiet for a few moments, staring down at her nails. Then she answered simply, her voice devoid of self-pity, "I'll likely do it alone."

Andy’s brow furrowed deeper. "What about your family?"

"They are in England."

"And...?"

Emily's expression shifted into something carefully, expertly neutral. "I have arranged overnight childcare for Bronwyn. My obstetrician is fully briefed on the situation. The nanny will stay at the apartment for as long as necessary."

Andy waited, her dark eyes searching Emily's face. "And Frank?"

Emily gave a tiny, humourless smile. "...Frank will not be there."

Andy didn't interrupt. She had learned that about Emily over the last two weeks, if you simply stayed quiet and listened, the sharp armour would slowly part.

"The last time..." Emily said softly, looking down at her hands, "...when Bronwyn was born..."

She swallowed, her throat bobbing.

"Frank walked out of the delivery room halfway through my labour."

Andy stared at her, frozen. "...What?"

"He had a haircut appointment," Emily said, her voice completely flat.

Silence filled the town car, heavy and suffocating. For a second, Andy wondered if she had misheard the words entirely.

"A... haircut?"

Emily let out a short, dry laugh, entirely devoid of humour. "...Yes."

Andy was rendered completely speechless.

"He informed me he had already paid the non-refundable deposit," Emily looked out the window, her jaw set. "I remember sitting in that hospital bed, hooked up to monitors, thinking..." She offered a small, heartbreakingly sad smile. "...that perhaps he would hurry back before she arrived."

Another heavy pause.

"He didn't."

Andy felt a violent knot of pure rage twist in her chest. Emily said it so matter-of-factly, as though she had rehearsed the memory enough times that all the jagged edges had been dulled.

"Did someone call him?" Andy asked, her voice tight.

"Mhm. The nurse called. He informed her that the traffic was dreadful."

Andy had to look away for a second, staring hard at the floorboards, because she was suddenly terrified Emily would see the burning fury in her eyes.

"So..." Emily continued with a casual little shrug, "...this time, I simply didn't invite him."

The words hung quietly in the space between them.

"It seemed far simpler that way."

Andy swallowed past the lump in her throat. She looked back up, her gaze locking onto Emily's with unwavering intensity.

"Em," Andy whispered softly.

Emily looked up, caught by the sheer gravity in Andy's tone.

"If you ever need anyone..." Andy hesitated for only a second, wanting to make sure Emily understood the truth behind every single syllable. "...I'm here."

Emily blinked.

"I mean it, Em," Andy smiled gently, her voice thick with emotion. "For anything. A ride to the hospital. A 3:00 a.m. coffee run. Someone to sit with Bronwyn. Someone to hold your hand. I don't care what it is."

Andy leaned slightly closer. "You don't have to do everything on your own."

Emily simply looked at her.

Nobody had said anything like that to her in... she honestly couldn't remember. Her parents were an ocean away. Frank was a selfish ghost. Her life was filled with colleagues, employees, buyers, and acquaintances, people who admired her, people who depended on her strength.

But someone simply offering to stand beside her? Without any conditions or expectations? No obligation?

Emily felt something impossibly tight and warm gather right behind her ribs, threatening to spill over into her eyes. "...Andrea..." her voice came out much softer, far more fragile than she had intended.

Before she could find the words to answer, Peter’s calm, professional voice floated back from the front seat. "We have arrived, Ms Charlton."

As if summoned by pure cosmic timing, a loud, tiny gasp erupted from the back seat.

Bronwyn’s eyes flew wide open. She sat up straight, looking around in disoriented confusion before her eyes landed on the massive, primary-colored Lego banners outside the window.

Her entire little face transformed into ecstatic joy. "...LEGO!"

The squeal that followed was so spectacularly, ear-splittingly high-pitched that Peter the driver instinctively reached for the radio volume knob before realising the sound hadn't come from the vehicle's speakers.

Emily closed her eyes, letting out a long, suffering, affectionate sigh. "And there she is."

Andy laughed out loud, turning fully in her seat just as Bronwyn began bouncing violently against her safety harness.

"Morning again, sleepyhead!" Andy called out.

"I SEE LEGO, ANDY!"

"I think you definitely do!"

"ANDY!"

"I'm right here, Bunny!"

"WE HERE!"

"We are!"

Emily looked at Andy. The heavy, profoundly intimate conversation they had just been having lingered quietly in the air between them, unfinished, suspended in time.

Andy met Emily's blue eyes for a brief, glowing second. A small, tender smile touched Andy's lips, one that clearly said: We will come back to this.

Emily found herself returning the smile, a deep sense of relief settling over her heart, just before Bronwyn announced to the entire vehicle with absolute authority, "I NEED BIG HUG RIGHT NOW!"

And just like that, the quiet vulnerability dissolved seamlessly back into glorious, wonderful toddler chaos.

Peter pulled smoothly into a spacious parking stall along the outer perimeter, the heavy town car engine falling silent as the cheerful, unmistakable silhouette of Legoland came into view beyond the windscreen.

Bright, primary-coloured flags fluttered against the July sky. Children were already pouring through the entrance gates in energetic swarms, nearly every single one wearing a tiny backpack and an expression of complete, unfiltered ecstasy.

"...We've arrived, Ms Charlton," Peter announced calmly.

"Thank you, Peter."

Emily reached automatically for the door handle, then immediately paused. She realised, with a sharp flash of irritation, that she couldn't actually extricate herself from the plush seat without first negotiating both her eight-month bump and Bronwyn's wildly enthusiastic collection of abandoned wooden toys.

"...Right," Emily muttered, staring at her lap.

Peter was already climbing out of the driver's seat. "I've got you, Ms Charlton."

"You are an absolute saint, Peter."

"So I am frequently told."

A second later, her door swung open from the outside. Peter offered a steady, supportive hand. Emily accepted it with only the faintest trace of wounded, high-fashion dignity. At nearly eight months pregnant, standing up had ceased to be a graceful movement and had officially become a carefully coordinated engineering project.

She eased herself upright with a controlled exhale. "There we are."

Peter waited until she was steady on her feet before closing the door behind her.

Meanwhile… Andy had already slid out of the front passenger seat and marched around to the rear passenger door. The exact second Bronwyn spotted her through the open door—"ANDYYYYY!"

The toddler immediately stretched both arms out as far as they would physically go. Her tiny fingers opened and closed impatiently in the air. "Up! Up!"

Andy laughed, a bright, clear sound. "Hang on just one second, sweetheart."

She leaned deep into the backseat, her long fingers expertly unfastening the rigid safety buckles on Bronwyn's car seat. "You have to stay still for approximately..."

Click.

"...three more seconds."

Click.

"...two..."

The final heavy buckle released. "...and done."

Freedom.

Bronwyn didn't bother climbing down to the floorboards. She simply launched herself. Just flop.

One tiny, denim-clad missile hurtling directly out of the town car toward Andy with terrifying confidence that she would be caught.

"Oh!"

Andy barely had time to brace her stance before twenty-odd pounds of frantic toddler collided directly with her chest.

"Oof—!"

Andy caught Bronwyn automatically, one arm sweeping beneath her little thighs, the other wrapping securely around her back. Momentum carried them backward half a step on the pavement, Andy’s sneakers squeaking against the asphalt.

Andy laughed breathlessly. "Well. Good morning to you too!"

Bronwyn immediately buried her face deep into the crook of Andy's neck as though this were precisely where she had intended to spend the entirety of her weekend.

"I miss you!"

The declaration was loud enough for several nearby families unloading strollers to pause and look over with fond smiles.

Andy felt something warm, thick, and impossibly fierce settle right behind her ribs. "I missed you too, Bunny."

Bronwyn immediately leaned back to inspect Andy’s face, her little dark eyes narrowing as she verified the truth of the statement. "You did?"

"I really did."

"Soooo much?"

Andy smiled, her dimples deepening. "Soooo much."

That appeared satisfactory. Bronwyn grinned, her whole face lighting up, before wrapping both arms tightly around Andy's neck in another ferocious hug.

Andy couldn't help laughing into Bronwyn's dark curls. "You really are exceptionally affectionate today."

"Mummy say Lego!"

"I know."

"We go Lego!"

"We are indeed going to Lego." Andy gently bumped the tip of her nose against Bronwyn's. "And we are going to have a ridiculous amount of fun."

Bronwyn nodded with the solemn, absolute certainty only toddlers could muster. "Yes."

Then, completely without warning, she reached up, cupped Andy's cheek in a sticky little hand, and squashed her face against Andy's skin.

"Mwah!" A wildly loud, wet kiss directly on the cheekbone.

Andy blinked, startled. "...Well."

Another kiss.

"MWAH!"

"I see."

A third, aggressive kiss straight to the jaw.

"MWAH!"

Andy laughed properly now, the sound rich and warm. "I have been thoroughly, officially greeted."

Bronwyn giggled so hard her tiny shoes kicked against Andy's waist, nearly sliding off her hip. Andy adjusted her weight automatically, settling the toddler comfortably against one side, her arm anchored beneath her like she had been carrying children her entire life. Which, she absolutely had not. Yet somehow, standing there in the morning sun, it looked effortlessly, terrifyingly natural.

"Come on then, baby girl," Andy murmured softly, tucking a loose brown curl behind Bronwyn's ear. "Shall we go inside?"

Bronwyn gasped dramatically, her jaw dropping. "YES!" She threw one tiny, dimpled arm into the air like a victorious explorer claiming new territory. "LEGO!"

"Lego," Andy agreed gravely.

Only then did Andy glance over her shoulder.

Emily was standing a few feet away beside Peter, watching them. One hand rested unconsciously atop the curve of her bump. The other held the strap of the increasingly heavy, absurdly overstuffed nappy bag she was already deeply regretting bringing.

Emily hadn't even realised she was smiling until Andy’s dark eyes met hers.

It wasn't one of her polite, practiced smiles. It wasn't the sharp, professional mask she wore at work or during fashion weeks. This smile had arrived without her permission, soft, quiet, lingering, and fond.

Because really... watching her fierce, stubborn daughter hurl herself into Andrea’s arms as though Andy were her favourite person on earth... It was impossible not to smile.

Emily had spent months lying awake, worrying that the divorce and Frank’s abandonment would leave Bronwyn hesitant, guarded, or cautious around new people. Instead, her daughter had looked at Andy exactly three times over the last fortnight before privately deciding, mine.

It was completely absurd. And also extremely lovely.

Andy caught her eye, tilting her head.

Emily felt an unexpected, sudden wave of self-consciousness wash over her. She straightened her posture slightly. "What?"

Andy’s mouth twitched. "You look happy, Em."

Emily recovered her sharp composure almost instantly. "I have simply just realised something rather tragic."

"Oh?"

"I am officially no longer the favourite."

Bronwyn, who had absolutely zero intention of correcting that accusation, was already patting Andy's cheek with rhythmic thuds. "Andy."

"Mhm?"

"You carry me."

"I am carrying you, Bunny."

"Forever."

Andy laughed out loud. "I'm not too sure my arms are strong enough for forever."

"They are!" Bronwyn insisted fiercely.

Emily folded her arms over her chest, raising an eyebrow. "You see? I’ve been replaced," she informed herself dryly.

Andy looked positively, outrageously delighted. "I've only known her two weeks, Em."

"I have known her since conception," Emily retorted. "The betrayal is severe."

Bronwyn considered this brief debate very carefully. Her little eyes darted between Andy's face and Emily's standing nearby. Then she reached one sticky hand out toward Emily. "Mummy."

Emily’s sharp expression melted instantly. "Yes, Bunny?"

Bronwyn pointed decisively with her index finger, indicating the space between the two of them. "Both."

Emily blinked, caught off guard. "...Both?"

"Mummy." Bronwyn tapped Emily's shoulder. "Andy." She patted Andy's cheek. Then, she beamed with immense satisfaction.

"Mine.”

A thick, heavy beat of complete silence fell over the pavement.

Andy looked at Emily. Emily looked at Andy. The air between them suddenly felt remarkably dense, charged with a quiet, undeniable truth that neither woman was brave enough to put into words.

Peter, wisely recognising he was witnessing something far sweeter and vastly more complicated than either woman would ever willingly acknowledge out loud, quietly cleared his throat.

"I shall collect you at the main gate around five o'clock, Ms Charlton?"

Emily dragged her eyes away from Andy first, her cheeks flushing a delicate shade of pink. "Yes... yes, please, Peter. Thank you."

Peter smiled politely, stepping toward his door. "I hope you all have a lovely day."

As the heavy town car pulled smoothly away, Andy looked down at Bronwyn, her voice dropping into a low, conspiratorial whisper.

"So..." Andy murmured, her eyes sparkling. "Should we go and find some Lego?"

Bronwyn's entire little body bounced against Andy's hip. "YES!"

Andy laughed. "Lead the way."

Bronwyn immediately pointed her finger in a completely random direction that was, unfortunately, pointing toward the parking garage and nowhere near the main entrance.

Andy nodded solemnly as though it were expert navigation. "This way, then!"

Emily let out a long sigh, adjusting the massive nappy bag on her shoulder as she began following behind them. "I see my sole role today is simply ensuring neither of you gets lost in the first five minutes."

Without looking back, Andy called over her shoulder, her voice full of warm mischief, "I make no promises!"

Emily couldn't help the quiet laugh that escaped her lips.

"No," Emily murmured to herself, watching Bronwyn chatter happily from Andy's hip as they walked side-by-side toward the bright entrance gates. "I suspected you wouldn't."

-

Bronwyn insisted on walking. Not because walking was objectively the fastest or most efficient method of traveling through a packed, sun-drenched theme park, quite the opposite, in fact, but because she had discovered what she clearly considered the single greatest invention in modern human civilisation.

Holding two hands at once.

One tiny, sticky fist was wrapped securely around Emily’s manicured fingers. The other clung proudly to Andy’s.

Bronwyn marched between them with enormous, militant determination, swinging both their arms in enthusiastic little arcs as though escorting two exceptionally important, tall dignitaries through Legoland.

"I'm biiiiig!" she announced loudly to absolutely no one in particular.

"You certainly are, Bunny," Andy agreed gravely, matching her long stride to the toddler's enthusiastic stomp.

Emily glanced down at the little girl practically skipping between them, the corners of her mouth lifting despite her strict efforts to remain aloof. "You realise," Emily observed dryly, "you have become approximately twelve percent more impossible since discovering independent locomotion."

Bronwyn beamed up at her, completely unbothered. "Yep!"

Andy let out a soft laugh. "I think that's toddler for 'thank you, mother, for these magnificent legs.'"

Emily sighed theatrically, though her eyes were warm. "I feared as much."

Families streamed around them in every direction, children darting excitedly from attraction to attraction while cheerful, synthesised brass music drifted across the park speakers.

Suddenly, Bronwyn stopped abruptly in the very middle of the main walkway, nearly dislocating both adults' shoulders in the process. "BOAT!"

Emily braced her lower back, looking toward the direction of her daughter’s trembling index finger. A brightly painted, cartoonish pirate ship was rocking dramatically back and forth against an artificial sky, above a chorus of delighted, echoing shrieks.

"...Ah," Emily said.

Bronwyn began bouncing in place like a pogo stick. "Boat! Boat! Boat! BOAT!"

Andy smiled down at her. "I believe someone has officially chosen our first expedition."

Emily smiled faintly, walking over to the height measurement board posted beside the queue entrance. She checked Bronwyn's height against the painted Lego pirate, then her eyes drifted downward to the bold, cautionary text at the bottom.

NOTICE: EXPECTANT MOTHERS SHOULD NOT RIDE THIS ATTRACTION.

Emily stared at the sign for a long, unblinking second. "...Oh."

Andy stepped beside her, peering over her shoulder. "What is it?"

Emily gestured wordlessly with one hand.

Andy read the notice. "...Oh."

A brief silence settled between them, save for the distant screams of children being tossed in a sixty-degree arc.

Emily let out a slow, deeply resigned sigh. "Apparently," she declared with immense, aristocratic dignity, "my current biological condition renders me entirely incompatible with pirate ships."

Andy bit her lower lip hard to stop herself from smiling. "I think that's probably a very sensible, risk-averse policy, Em."

"I disagree entirely."

"You disagree with... safety regulations?"

"I disagree with the deeply offensive, highly institutionalised implication that I cannot successfully captain a mildly aggressive fiberglass boat!"

Andy broke, laughing out loud.

Emily folded her arms tightly over her chest, standing her ground. "I am perfectly capable of being flung through the air."

"The sign explicitly says otherwise, Em."

"The sign lacks basic vision and imagination."

Bronwyn, blissfully unaware of the constitutional crisis unfolding around theme park safety guidelines, tugged violently on Andy's hand. "Boat now? Andy, boat now?"

Andy looked back at Emily, her expression softening. "I can take her."

Emily blinked, momentarily thrown. "...What?"

"You go find somewhere shady to sit for a little while," Andy said gently, gesturing toward a covered bench near a ice cream kiosk. "I've got her."

Emily instinctively glanced toward the winding queue, then up at the massive ship swinging violently overhead. "...Are you sure?"

"Of course I am."

"You will be required to haul approximately half of Manhattan with you." Emily looked meaningfully down at the absurdly heavy, overstuffed leather nappy bag slung over her shoulder.

Andy simply held out an open hand. "I've survived investigative reporting in war zones, Em. I think I can handle a queue."

Emily snorted softly. "I am not remotely convinced those two things are comparable."

"It's probably vastly easier than investigative reporting."

Emily eyed the massive bag suspiciously. "It contains enough tactical supplies to survive a small-scale nuclear winter."

"I'll risk it."

After another tiny, hesitant beat, Emily unslung the heavy strap and surrendered it. The sudden miraculous absence of several kilograms from her aching shoulder was an almost spiritual experience.

"...Good Lord," Emily breathed out, standing up a little straighter.

Andy caught the bag by the strap, her arm dipping instantly as the weight landed against her hip. "...Em."

"I did warn you, Andrea."

"This bag weighs significantly more than your actual daughter."

"I am well aware."

"What on earth is in here? Lead weights?"

"Everything," Emily replied simply.

"...That is not an answer."

"It is the only answer when one is responsible for a small human."

Andy adjusted the thick leather strap over her shoulder with exaggeratedly dramatic effort. "I suddenly understand why mothers possess such extraordinary upper-body strength."

Emily's guarded smile softened, a quiet warmth touching her eyes. "You adapt."

Andy nodded once, her dark eyes steady. "So do journalists." She reached back down for Bronwyn's little hand, leading her to the queue. “Ready, Bunny?"

Bronwyn nodded enthusiastically, her little pigtails bouncing, then she looked up. Past Andy. Past the towering pirate ship. Toward Emily... who wasn't moving.

Emily smiled warmly, giving her a little encouraging wave of her fingers. "You two go on ahead, darling."

The excited grin vanished from Bronwyn's face, replaced instantly by a tiny, deep crease between her brows. "...Mummy?"

"It’ll only be a while, darling," Emily reassured her gently.

"You... no come?"

Emily felt something in her chest squeeze tightly. "No, sweetheart." She pointed softly toward the warning sign. "The baby and Mummy have to stay on the ground today."

Bronwyn looked down at the enormous curve of Emily's bump. Then back up at the towering pirate ship. Then at Andy's face. Then back to Emily.

Her tiny lower lip began to tremble violently. "Mummy..."

Without another word, Bronwyn abandoned Andy's hand altogether and scrambled back across the pavement, throwing both little arms around Emily's knees with surprising, desperate force. "Mummy no go... Mummy stay!"

Emily’s sharp, practical posture melted in a single second. "Oh, Bunny..."

With a soft groan, Emily carefully lowered herself into a crouch, one hand automatically supporting the warm, heavy underside of her bump to balance herself. Bronwyn immediately buried her face deep into the soft linen of Emily's dress, her tiny shoulders shaking.

"I miss you..." Bronwyn whimpered into the fabric.

Emily stroked gentle, soothing circles across her daughter's back. "I'm right here, sweetheart. Look at me."

A tiny, wet sniffle.

"I know it feels strange," Emily whispered, smoothing down Bronwyn's dark curls. "I know."

Another small, trembling nod against her knee.

Emily gently tucked a stray curl behind Bronwyn's ear, lifting her chin slightly so their eyes met. "But Andrea is going to stay right beside you the entire time. She won't let go of your hand."

Bronwyn peeked uncertainly over her shoulder toward Andy.

Andy hadn't moved an inch. She stood a few feet away, her hands tucked loosely into her pockets, giving Bronwyn all the time and space she needed without a shred of pressure.

Emily offered a faint, reassuring smile. "And if you decide you don't feel ready..." Emily smoothed Bronwyn's cheek. "...you tell Andrea."

Bronwyn blinked, wiping her nose with her sleeve. "Tell Andy?"

"Yes. And she will bring you straight back to Mummy. Instantly."

"No matter what," Andy added softly, stepping forward just half a pace. "I promise, honey."

Bronwyn looked between the two women, her dark eyes wide and searching. "...Promise?"

Andy nodded immediately, her expression entirely sincere. "Pinky promise." She extended her little finger.

After a long breathless moment... Bronwyn slowly reached out her tiny hand and hooked her pinky around Andy's. "...Otay."

Andy smiled, her dark eyes glowing. "We're going to take hundreds of pictures for Mummy while we're up there."

Bronwyn sniffed softly. "Lots?"

"So many. We'll show her the pirate flags."

Bronwyn nodded, wiping a stray tear. "And the treasure?"

"And the treasure," Andy confirmed. "And afterwards..." Andy leaned in close, dropping her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, "...you can tell Mummy whether I screamed louder than you."

That finally earned a tiny involuntary giggle from the toddler.

Emily exhaled a long breath she hadn't realised she was holding, her shoulders relaxing.

Andy offered her hand once more. This time, Bronwyn took it. Her grip was still a little tentative, a little uncertain, but she didn't let go.

Emily remained crouched on the pavement for a moment longer, watching the two of them walk together into the winding queue line. Andy talked continuously in a low, soothing tone, pointing out pirate skeletons, steering wheels, and a bright green Lego parrot perched high on a mast.

Before even thirty seconds had passed, Bronwyn's clear, bright laugh floated back across the breeze.

Emily pushed herself up slowly, resting one hand over her heart, a helpless smile breaking across her face before she could stop it.

There was something moving about watching Andrea slip so naturally into moments like this. No performance. No awkwardness. No uncertainty. No trying too hard to impress. She simply met Bronwyn exactly where she was. As though she had always known how to hold her world.

Emily rested her palm over the curve of her bump, feeling the baby give a soft, rhythmic shift beneath her skin.

The emotion settling deep behind her ribs wasn't jealousy. Nor was it simple relief. It was something vastly more profound. It was the terrifying, exquisite feeling of watching her carefully guarded life, effortlessly make room for someone else. And, perhaps most unsettling of all, she realised she didn't want to close that door ever again.

She lasted approximately four and a half minutes before admitting total defeat.

Legoland, she had swiftly discovered, was evidently designed by cheerful, sunburnt sadists who believed every available bench should exist in direct, relentless sunlight.

After rejecting three separate benches for being either fully occupied by weeping toddlers, inexplicably sticky with spilled apple juice, or positioned directly beneath a pirate-themed speaker blasting sea shanties at an antisocial volume, she finally located a single, pristine wooden seat tucked beneath the generous shade of an enormous maple tree.

"...Civilisation," she murmured softly.

With a suffering exhale, she lowered herself carefully onto the wooden slats. Even the simple act of sitting required elaborate military strategy now. One hand braced firmly against the carved armrest. The other automatically supported the heavy, round underside of her stomach.

Slowly... down.

"There we are," she breathed.

The baby responded instantly to the change in posture by lodging what felt suspiciously like a fully formed foot directly beneath her right ribs.

"Oh, do not start," Emily muttered, glaring down at her dress.

Another sharp kick.

"I fail to see how assault from the inside improves either of our current situations."

Emily leaned back against the shaded wooden slats, fanning herself with the folded paper park map she’d picked up at the turnstiles. It was barely eleven o'clock in the morning. How on earth was it already so offensively warm? She dabbed delicately at the back of her neck with a silk handkerchief before taking a long sip from her water bottle.

Third-trimester pregnancy, high motherhood, and July Manhattan humidity… a truly vicious, unholy combination.

Her phone vibrated in her dress pocket with a soft buzz.

She smiled before she had even swiped to unlock the screen.

Andrea

We're in the queue!

Approximately 25 minutes left.

Bunny says this is "FOREVER."

Attached beneath the message was a clear photograph.

Bronwyn stood proudly beside one of the wooden queue ropes, the towering pirate ship soaring through the sky behind her. Her tiny, oversized sunglasses had slipped halfway down her small nose. She was pointing dramatically at the ship with one hand while clutching a crushed packet of organic animal crackers in the other like a victory torch.

Emily’s smile appeared almost instantly, wide and helpless. She tapped the little heart reaction beneath the photo.

Her phone buzzed again before she’d even set it back in her lap.

Andrea

Emergency snack break.

Another picture loaded. Bronwyn was sitting cross-legged on the floor, her cheeks puffed out like a frantic chipmunk as she attempted to fit approximately six zebra crackers into her mouth simultaneously.

Emily laughed aloud, her quiet voice ringing softly in the shade. "Greedy little thing."

A third vibration.

Andrea

Queue update.

Eighteen minutes.

Attached was a photo of Bronwyn balancing carefully along the narrow edge of a wooden beam while Andy’s hand hovered just inches behind her lower back, completely invisible to the child, but ready to catch her the millisecond she wobbled.

Emily found herself lingering on that third photograph. Not because of Bronwyn, because of Andy.

She hadn't even realised she’d been watching for it until this exact moment. Andrea wasn't looking at the camera lens at all. She was looking at Bronwyn. Completely focused. Completely present. Her posture was relaxed, yet her free hand was already reaching instinctively toward the toddler before a slip could even occur.

Emily zoomed in on the screen without really meaning to.

"...Huh," she whispered to the quiet breeze.

Andy looked... natural. Unforced. Comfortable. As though she had been navigating the chaotic, unpredictable waters of motherhood for years. The realisation settled warmly, thickly, somewhere right behind Emily's ribs.

Another buzz.

Andrea

Current queue entertainment: Counting pirate flags.

Current official score:

Me: 14

Bronwyn: 63

I'm beginning to suspect she is inventing flags.

Emily smiled so broadly her cheeks actually began to ache. She typed back instantly, her thumbs moving quickly across the glass.

She certainly is.

Her mathematics remain highly imaginative and self-serving.

Three grey dots appeared on the screen almost instantly.

Andrea

Confirmed.

She just counted the exact same wooden parrot three times and called it a flag.

Emily shook her head fondly, a sigh escaping her lips. "Honestly..."

Another photograph arrived a second later. This one made the breath catch squarely in Emily's throat.

It was a selfie. Andy had crouched down low so their faces filled the entire frame equally. Bronwyn was tucked snugly against Andy's neck, one tiny arm wrapped securely around Andy’s collarbone. Both of them were grinning so widely, so unapologetically, that their eyes had crinkled into matching crescents.

The startling, uncanny resemblance in their pure joy was breathtaking. Same massive, dimpled smile. Same bright, crinkled eyes. Same absurd, unfiltered delight.

Emily stared at the screen for much longer than she had intended. It wasn't a polished, high-fashion photograph. The harsh midday lighting was dreadful. Bronwyn had dark cracker crumbs smeared across her chin and cheek. Andy had somehow acquired what appeared to be a smudge of apple paste on one cheekbone. It was... absolute perfection.

Emily’s thumb hovered over the glass. She tapped Save to Camera Roll, immediately, without giving herself a single second to question why.

A final text message appeared beneath the photograph.

Andrea

She said she wishes Mummy was up here with her.

But she also said she knows that when baby brother gets here, all four of us can come back and ride it together ❤️

Emily stared at the glowing screen. The text on the glass blurred ever so slightly.

All four of us.

She knew, with clarity, exactly what Bronwyn had meant. Children had remarkably uncomplicated, pure ideas about family. If someone loved you... and you loved them... well. Obviously, they belonged together.

Emily let out a shaky little laugh, blinking rapidly once before typing her reply.

Tell her Mummy loves her very much.

And that she is being incredibly brave.

Another message popped up instantly.

Andrea

Already told her.

She says she loves you "THIS MUCH."

A second later, one last photo arrived. Bronwyn had both tiny arms stretched as wide apart as her small body would physically allow, her chest puffed out in triumph.

Emily laughed outright, wiping a stray tear from the corner of her eye. "...Ridiculous child."

She pressed the warm phone lightly against her chest for just a moment before slipping it back into her dress pocket.

The strange, hollow ache of exclusion she had braced herself to feel when they walked away... never arrived.

Instead... she had never felt so included. Andrea hadn't needed to keep sending constant updates. She could have simply enjoyed the morning alone with Bronwyn. Instead, she had deliberately found a way to bridge the distance, ensuring Emily never felt left out for a single second.

The thought warmed her in ways the July sunshine never could.

And then sudden, roaring cheer erupted from the queue line ahead.

Emily looked up. The giant pirate ship had finally begun loading its next round of passengers.

She stood up carefully from the shade, one hand pressing firmly against the small of her back as she stretched her spine. "...Right."

Slowly, she made her way toward the wooden viewing fence running alongside the attraction. A handful of parents were already gathered behind the railings, waving enthusiastically at children climbing aboard the painted deck.

Emily spotted them almost immediately. Andy was helping Bronwyn step carefully onto the moving wooden platform, keeping one steady, protective hand firmly anchored around the toddler's tiny waist. Bronwyn climbed onto the bench seat with immense, solemn seriousness, and then immediately forgot all seriousness whatsoever.

She looked up across the crowd. She saw Emily standing right behind the wooden fence. "MUMMY!"

Emily lifted both hands into the air, laughing as the crowd parted. "I'm right here, darling!"

Bronwyn waved so violently she nearly toppled sideways off the seat before Andy caught her easily around the ribs.

"Careful there, pirate," Andy murmured, her voice carrying over the crowd.

Bronwyn dissolved into breathless, delighted giggles.

Andy looked over too. Across the sea of strollers and sunhats... her dark eyes found Emily's almost instantly.

Andy smiled. An unspoken question hanging in the air between them: Can you see us?

Emily smiled back, her chest rising, and nodded ever so slightly. I can.

The heavy padded safety bar lowered with a mechanical click across their laps. Bronwyn's dark eyes grew enormous. "...Andy?"

"Are you ready, Bunny?"

"...Maybe."

Andy leaned down close to her ear. "I'll scream first. Deal?"

Bronwyn blinked up at her. "...Really?"

"Oh, definitely. Loudest scream in North America."

The ride operator gave a thumbs-up. The great fiberglass pirate ship lurched gently on its hydraulic arms, and then began to swing.

Bronwyn squealed, not a sound of fear, but of pure, intoxicating delight.

Higher. Higher. Higher.

By the third massive swing, both Bronwyn and Andy had their arms thrown high above their heads into the summer air. Their shared laughter carried all the way across the viewing platform, wild, unrestrained, completely infectious.

Emily found herself laughing too, her hands gripping the top rail of the wooden fence.

There they were. Her fierce, brilliant little daughter. And... Andrea.

Emily watched Andy throw her head back against the wind, laughing like an absolute, sun-drenched maniac as Bronwyn shrieked with joy beside her.

"...My goodness," Emily whispered softly to the summer breeze.

The word crush felt absurdly, offensively adolescent for a thirty-three-year-old high-fashion executive carrying her second child.

Yet standing there in the warm July sunshine... watching Andrea laugh herself breathless beside the little girl who meant more to Emily than anything else in the universe... she was forced to admit one deeply inconvenient, utterly terrifying, magnificent truth.

Whatever tender, dangerous spark she thought she had permanently buried ten years ago, hadn’t stayed buried at all.

Afterwards, the pirate ship had, apparently, transformed Bronwyn into a fearless, unyielding adventurer.

Or, more accurately, a fearless adventurer with absolutely no understanding whatsoever of the fundamental biological concept of physical fatigue.

"I do dragon now!" she declared confidently, her voice echoing over the cheerful park chatter as she marched purposefully between Emily and Andy, one small hand clasped securely in each of theirs.

Emily glanced up toward the towering green track of the Lego dragon rollercoaster roaring directly overhead, where a train of shrieking teenagers was currently plummeting forty feet.

"...You are approximately two feet tall, my child," Emily observed dryly.

Bronwyn looked up at the towering steel structure, then back at her mother. "...Yep."

"I am afraid that severely limits your operational eligibility."

Bronwyn considered this grave, tragic injustice for almost three whole seconds. Then, before a single protest could be mounted, her attention was stolen by something infinitely, spectacularly better.

Round and round, beneath a magnificent striped canopy painted in bright reds, whites, and gilded yellows, a cheerful carousel spun lazily to the tinny, mechanical strains of a calliope organ. Its carved horses rose and fell gracefully on polished brass poles while children laughed from painted saddles.

Bronwyn stopped dead in her tracks, nearly yanked back by the hands she was holding. Her dark eyes became impossibly wide. "...Horsey."

Andy followed her gaze, a soft smile immediately tugging at her mouth. "Oh."

Emily smiled knowingly down at her daughter. "I suspect we have officially identified today's grand victor."

Bronwyn gasped, her little chest puffing out. "HORSEY!"

Without waiting for verbal permission, she tugged both women forward with astonishing, toddler-fuelled determination. "C'mon! Fast!"

Andy laughed, adjusting her long stride. "Yes, boss."

Emily sighed with dramatic, theatrical resignation, though her eyes were shining. "I see we have once again surrendered all democratic process to a dictatorial two-year-old."

Fortunately... this particular attraction carried no alarming, litigious warnings regarding third-trimester pregnancies.

Emily examined the metal safety notice posted by the turnstile with intense, microscopic suspicion before finally giving an elegant nod of approval. "...Excellent."

Andy leaned over slightly, her shoulder lightly brushing Emily’s. "Approved by the Charlton legal department?"

"No mention whatsoever of expectant mothers being flung violently into neighbouring counties," Emily replied with immense dignity.

"So..."

"So I shall permit it."

Bronwyn clapped her hands together with a wet smack. "MUMMY COME TOO!"

Emily’s sharp expression melted instantly, a helpless smile breaking across her face. "I can indeed."

The little girl positively glowed, her dark eyes sparkling. "Mummy horsey!"

"I am not convinced the painted horse requires me to actually mount it," Emily said, raising an eyebrow.

"You stand!"

"I stand?"

"You hold me."

Emily's posture softened into something defencelessly tender. "...I can do that."

Bronwyn immediately threw both arms around Emily's linen-clad knee, burying her face against it in triumph. "YAY!"

Andy watched the exchange in silence. Emily was looking down at her daughter with such uncomplicated, radiant affection that it was almost staggering to witness. The sharp, polished armour she had spent years building around herself, the pristine, razor-sharp persona designed to protect her from a cold world, simply vanished into thin air the moment she looked at Bronwyn.

Andy wasn't even sure Emily realised it was happening. She certainly didn't seem to.

The queue moved briskly in the warm July shade. Bronwyn spent almost the entire ten-minute wait narrating every single visible object with absolute, unshakeable authority.

"Blue horse."

"Mhm," Emily agreed, absently tucking a loose dark curl behind Bronwyn's ear. "A very fine blue horse."

"Pink horse."

"I see it, darling."

"That horse sleeping."

Andy blinked, peering through the wooden queue railings at a stationary, carved bay stallion. "...I think he's just standing still, Bunny."

"He sleepy."

Emily nodded gravely at Andy. "I believe you have been officially overruled by a higher authority."

Andy laughed, her hands tucked loosely into her pockets. "I'll defer to the expert."

Bronwyn accepted this total surrender with immense, aristocratic dignity. Then, her little face grew thoughtful as she looked down at the large, round curve of Emily's dress. "And baby brother no horsey."

Emily rested one hand absent-mindedly over the underside of her stomach. "No, my darling. Not today."

"He too little."

"Extremely little."

"He come next time."

Emily’s smile softened, a quiet, lingering warmth in her voice. "I hope so."

"And you." Bronwyn pointed a sticky index finger directly at Andy's knee.

Andy blinked, pointing to her own chest. "Me?"

"You come."

Emily looked sideways at Andy, her dark eyes glinting with dry amusement. "I believe you have just been formally summoned to a future social engagement."

"I'd be deeply honoured," Andy said softly, her dark eyes fixed on Emily's face.

Bronwyn nodded once, entirely satisfied that everyone's attendance for the foreseeable future had now been legally confirmed.

"Hello there!"

A cheerful ride attendant in a bright yellow park visor crouched down to Bronwyn's eye level near the entrance gate. "What a lovely, sunny day for the carousel."

Bronwyn nodded with tremendous enthusiasm. "Horsey!"

"I can see that!" The attendant smiled brightly, then glanced up at Emily. "And is this your mummy, big girl?"

Bronwyn puffed out her chest, beaming with absolute pride. "YES!"

Emily offered a polite smile. "Hello."

The attendant then turned her gaze toward Andy, who was standing just half a step behind them with the massive, overflowing leather nappy bag slung comfortably over her shoulder. "And who's this?"

Bronwyn didn't answer immediately. Instead... she frowned. Really frowned. Her tiny eyebrows knitted together with the intense concentration of someone attempting to solve advanced quantum mechanics.

Emily watched her with mild, fond curiosity. Andy waited patiently too, tilting her head.

Bronwyn looked from Emily... to Andy... back to Emily... and then back to Andy again.

Then, her entire little face lit up with a massive, triumphant, completely innocent beam. "My nanny!”

Silence.

Absolute, pristine silence fell over the immediate vicinity.

Emily felt every single drop of blood violently drain from her face.

Andy blinked, her eyebrows shooting up toward her hairline. "...Oh."

The park attendant didn't even flinch. She simply smiled with the calm, unshakeable aura of someone who spent eight hours a day surrounded by chaotic toddlers. "How lovely."

Emily recovered first, her soul practically attempting to leave her body.

"Oh—good Lord, no!"

Emily let out a laugh that was far too loud, far too high-pitched, and entirely devoid of her usual polished composure. "No, no, absolutely not!"

Bronwyn looked deeply, confused by the sudden dramatic escalation.

Emily carefully lowered herself into a shallow crouch beside her daughter, her cheeks burning a catastrophic shade of crimson. "Sweetheart... Andrea is not your nanny."

Bronwyn's little forehead creased. "...No?"

"No, darling," Emily stammered, mortified beyond belief, casting an apologetic, panic-stricken glance at Andy. "She is... she is Mummy's friend. An extremely distinguished friend."

Bronwyn looked at Andy's amused face, then back at Emily's flustered one, and then nodded with complete, unbothered confidence. "...Otay."

As though the catastrophic social misunderstanding had never occurred.

The park attendant let out a low, knowing chuckle. "They do love making up grand job titles at this age."

Emily looked genuinely, deeply horrified. "I assure you, I have never—"

"My three-year-old nephew once introduced me to his entire preschool class as 'the lady who fixes toast,'" the attendant offered cheerfully, tapping the side of the entrance gate. "I wasn't even offended. Toast is important."

Andy burst into a sudden, bright laugh.

The attendant winked at Bronwyn. "You three enjoy the ride!"

"Thank you," Emily replied weakly.

She remained frozen in her crouch until the attendant wandered off to assist another family. Then, with a long suffering groan, Emily buried her face entirely into her hand. "...I am so unbelievably sorry."

Andy looked down at her, her dark eyes dancing with unbearable delight. "For what?"

"For..." Emily gestured helplessly, hysterically, toward Bronwyn, who was already marching toward a golden chariot, completely oblivious to the chaos she had wrought. "...for that."

Andy shrugged, her dimples showing clearly. "It was funny, Em."

"It was utterly mortifying!"

"It really wasn't."

"Andrea, she introduced you to a complete stranger! As hired domestic childcare!"

Andy broke, laughing properly now, the sound rich and warm in the summer air. "Well, when you phrase it like that..."

Emily groaned louder, pressing her palm to her hot forehead. "Oh, God. I am going to melt into the concrete."

"I promise I'm not traumatised."

"I have spent my entire adult life carefully cultivating a reputation of competence and high-fashion sophistication," Emily lamented softly to the floorboards.

Andy smiled down at her, offering a steadying hand to help Emily stand up. "And today you've apparently employed me."

Emily accepted the hand, standing up slowly while still looking genuinely stricken. "I cannot apologise enough. I have no idea where she even acquired that thought."

Andy reached over and lightly, playfully nudged Emily's elbow with her own. "Em."

Emily looked at her, her dark eyes wide and vulnerable.

"It's okay," Andy murmured softly.

"It really isn't."

"It really is."

Emily still looked unconvinced still, her bottom lip caught between her teeth.

Andy’s smile softened into something incredibly warm, her voice dropping an octave as she stepped closer. "...Honestly?"

Emily exhaled a shaky breath. "...What?"

"I wouldn't mind."

Emily blinked, her breath catching squarely in her throat. "What?"

"I wouldn't mind being Bronwyn's nanny," Andy said quietly.

Emily stared at her, motionless.

Andy shrugged casually, looking over at the little girl who was currently trying very earnestly to wave at every single painted carousel horse individually as the ride began to prep.

"I mean..." Andy added, a soft, helpless tenderness in her tone. "She's pretty great."

Emily couldn't think of a single word to say. Her throat felt dry, her mind racing to process the absolute, terrifying sincerity in Andy's eyes.

Andy continued smoothly, as though she hadn't just shifted the tectonic plates of Emily's entire universe. "And she'd definitely keep me busy."

Bronwyn chose that exact, heavy moment to turn around from the chariot rail and announce loudly, "Andy!"

"Mhm?" Andy responded instantly, stepping forward.

"I'm HOT."

Without a single second of hesitation, awkwardness, or doubt, Andy unslung the heavy leather nappy bag from her shoulder and set it smoothly on the bench beside them. "Okay, sweetie. On it."

She crouched down smoothly, her long fingers rummaging through the bag's seemingly endless compartments with effortless familiarity. She didn't ask where anything was. She didn't look lost.

"Let's see..." Andy murmured.

Within three seconds, her hand emerged with exactly what was needed, a small, soft muslin cooling cloth and a tiny spray bottle of fresh water.

She gave the cloth a quick, misted shake before gently, meticulously dabbing Bronwyn's warm, flushed forehead. "There."

Then, she moved to the back of the little girl's neck, smoothing away the damp dark curls. "Much better."

Bronwyn let out a long, dramatic toddler sigh of profound relief. "...Nice."

Andy smiled softly. "I thought so."

She tucked the cloth away, pulled out Bronwyn's small water bottle, unscrewed the cap, and held it out. "Big drink for me."

Bronwyn obeyed immediately, taking three long gulps before wiping her mouth on her sleeve.

"Good job, Bunny."

Emily watched the entire interaction from a feet away without uttering a single sound.

Andy hadn't asked where the cloth was stored. She hadn't asked if Bronwyn preferred water or juice. She knew the towel lived in the front right pocket. She remembered the water bottle. She checked the back of Bronwyn's neck first because she had paid attention when Emily mentioned toddlers overheated there before anywhere else.

Everything Andrea did looked so terrifyingly instinctive. So natural. As though she had simply... stepped into the rhythm of their lives and belonged there all along.

Emily felt a sudden, distinct flutter low beneath her ribs. She looked down automatically, resting a hand over the round curve of her dress. "...Hm."

Another small, firm movement pressed against her palm from the inside. The baby had been particularly active all morning, perhaps he had simply decided that now was another excellent moment to practise his martial arts routine.

...Or perhaps::: Emily looked back up.

Andy was kneeling on the floorboards, laughing quietly at something Bronwyn had just conspiratorially whispered into her ear, one of Andy's long hands absent-mindedly smoothing the toddler's dark curls back into place with infinite care.

The fluttering warmth beneath Emily's ribs lingered, spreading upward into her chest like a slow, undeniable fire. Not quite a kick. Not entirely.

"...Oh, honestly," Emily muttered very softly under her breath, a faint, helpless flush rising to her cheeks.

The baby responded instantly with one firm, deliberate thump against her right side.

Emily let out the smallest, most helpless smile, her eyes never leaving Andrea's face in the bright summer light. "Yes," she whispered quietly to herself, her thumb tracing the linen over her bump. "I am choosing to blame you."

Whether she was speaking directly to her unborn son... or to the inconvenient, impossible, magnificent butterflies she had sworn ten years ago she would never feel again... she wasn't certain at all anymore.

-

At last, after what Bronwyn had repeatedly, dramatically, and with increasing indignation declared to be "one hundred years," the metal safety gate swung open with a cheerful click.

"Next riders!" called the park attendant with a wide, practiced smile.

Bronwyn gasped so loudly that several nearby parents turned around, smiling fond, tired smiles at the sheer scale of toddler enthusiasm. "MUMMY!"

"I heard, darling," Emily replied, her hand resting over her bump as she navigated the step onto the platform.

"WE GO!"

Bronwyn didn't so much walk onto the carousel as charge it. Her tiny sneakers pattered with ferocious, echoing enthusiasm across the polished wooden floorboards of the revolving deck.

"Horsey?" Andy called after her, easily keeping pace with two long strides, the heavy leather nappy bag slung securely across her torso.

"No!" Bronwyn barked over her shoulder without stopping. She was already weaving determinedly between the brightly painted Lego animals, inspecting each one with the immense seriousness of a museum curator evaluating priceless artifacts.

"Lion?" Andy offered, pointing to a majestic, brick-built predator with a red mane.

"No."

"Dragon?"

"No."

"Ooh." Andy stopped beside a magnificent, towering blue elephant whose trunk was curved skyward. "This one's pretty impressive, Bunny."

Bronwyn barely deigned to glance at it. "No."

Emily folded her arms over her chest, watching the increasingly rigorous, utterly opaque selection process unfold. "I fear we have severely underestimated the geopolitical importance of this decision."

"It appears to be a matter of grave national significance," Andy agreed, her voice deadpan, though her dark eyes were sparkling with dry amusement.

Bronwyn ignored both of them completely.

She marched another five paces before stopping dead in her tracks in front of an absurdly cheerful giraffe constructed entirely from oversized yellow Lego bricks. It wore a ridiculous, oversized red bow tie painted onto its neck, and its wide, printed eyes suggested it had never experienced a single unpleasant thought in its entire plastic existence.

Bronwyn gasped, her jaw dropping open in pure wonder. "GIRAFFE!"

Emily’s lips curled into a warm, helpless smile. "An excellent, highly distinguished choice, darling."

"MINE!" Bronwyn immediately spun around on her heel, threw both arms into the air, and looked straight at Andy. "Andy!"

Andy didn't even hesitate for a second. "There she is."

She stepped forward, crouching just enough to slip her long hands beneath Bronwyn's arms with easy, practiced confidence. "Ready, sweetie?"

"Up!"

With one smooth, fluid movement, Andy lifted her. Bronwyn rose effortlessly through the air with a delighted squeal before landing carefully astride the giraffe's molded saddle.

"There," Andy murmured, her hands lingering on Bronwyn's waist as she adjusted the little girl's legs so she sat securely. "Comfortable?"

Bronwyn nodded enthusiastically, smoothing down her duck T-shirt. "Very."

"Good."

Andy automatically reached for the little woven safety strap across Bronwyn's lap. She clicked the buckle into place, then gave the nylon strap one gentle, firm tug to make certain the mechanism was locked properly.

Emily noticed. Of course she noticed. The casual, unthinking nature of the gesture hit her squarely in the chest.

Bronwyn pointed a decisive, sticky finger at the animal positioned directly adjacent to her. "You."

Andy looked over. A bright orange Lego tiger stood proudly beside the giraffe, frozen forever in an expression of permanently enthusiastic, cartoonish ferocity.

"Me?" Andy asked, pointing a thumb at her own chest.

"You tiger."

Andy placed a long hand over her heart, bowing her head slightly. "I have been deeply honoured by the sovereign."

"You tiger!" Bronwyn reiterated, as if ensuring there was no bureaucratic confusion.

"I would be delighted," Andy replied, climbing gracefully onto the tiger’s saddle with exaggerated, dramatic dignity. She looked over at Bronwyn with a conspiratorial wink. "I hope I am performing my duties adequately?"

Bronwyn nodded once, solemn as a judge. "Yep."

Emily stepped carefully into the narrow wooden space between the two animals. There was no room for another rider to sit, only enough space for an adult to stand comfortably beside a child to hold them steady. It was perfect. She rested one hand lightly against the small of Bronwyn's back.

The ride operator made one final, sweeping walk around the platform. "Everyone ready?"

Bronwyn threw one tiny hand into the air like a conquering general. "READY!"

Andy instantly threw her hand into the air in exact imitation. "So ready!"

Emily rolled her eyes, though the affectionate smile on her face betrayed her completely. "Good grief. I am surrounded by children."

The calliope music began. Soft, cheerful, nostalgic melodies drifted beneath the striped canopy as the wooden platform gave a gentle, mechanical lurch. Slowly, smoothly, the animals began their circular voyage.

Bronwyn let out a bright, unrestrained laugh. "We moving!"

"We certainly are, darling," Emily smiled, her hand rising and falling with the gentle rhythm of the giraffe.

Round and round they went. The yellow giraffe rose gracefully on its polished brass pole, then dipped low again. Bronwyn's delighted giggles floated out into the warm summer air like tiny bubbles.

Emily couldn't stop smiling. Her hand remained anchored firmly against Bronwyn's back, her fingers spread protectively between her tiny shoulder blades as the little girl bounced happily with every rise and fall.

"Look!" Bronwyn pointed wildly toward the perimeter. "Mummy! Twee!"

"I see it, baby."

"Andy!"

"Mhm?" Andy called across from her tiger, her dark hair catching the sunlight filtered through the canopy.

"We HIGH!"

"We're practically in the clouds, Bunny!"

Emily snorted softly. "I admire your spatial optimism."

The carousel gathered a little more momentum. It wasn't fast, it was a toddler ride, after all, but the gentle, swaying motion beneath Emily's feet grew slightly more pronounced. She shifted her weight automatically to compensate, her sandals adjusting against the wooden floorboards.

However, the rapid, drastic redistribution of her balance, courtesy of the heavy, eight-month bump pulling her centre of gravity forward, betrayed her.

"Oh," Emily breathed out.

It wasn't a dramatic fall. It wasn't dangerous. It was simply the sudden, unmistakable sensation of her body leaning a fraction further sideways than she had intended as the platform rose.

Instinct took over instantly. Without even looking, Emily reached upward for the nearest brass pole, the one securing Andy's tiger, to steady herself.

Her fingers wrapped firmly around the cool, polished metal.

"There," Emily whispered, exhaling a quiet breath as she regained her footing. Steady again.

For all of one second.

Then, warmth.

Not the slick, chilly brass she had expected. Something vastly softer. The gentle, unmistakable weight of another hand settled directly over the back of hers.

Not gripping her tightly. Not restraining her. Simply covering her. Anchoring her.

Emily’s breath caught squarely in her throat. She looked up.

Andy.

Andy had already been watching her. She had been watching her the entire time. Her long hand rested lightly over Emily's, where it had landed almost without conscious thought, instinctively steadying her the exact millisecond she had seen Emily wobble.

Those endlessly warm, dark brown eyes searched Emily's face with intense concern.

"You okay?" Andy asked softly. Her voice was low, intimate, completely submerged beneath the cheerful noise of the calliope music.

Emily forgot how to speak. She forgot how to breathe.

For one suspended heartbeat, the brightly coloured world continued turning around them in a blur of painted primary colours. Children laughed somewhere behind them. The mechanical music played its tinny, jaunty tune. Bronwyn happily narrated the passing scenery to absolutely no one in particular—"Cloud! Big cloud!"—yet somehow, impossibly, everything else receded into distant, fuzzy background noise.

Emily became acutely, exquisitely aware of every single point of physical contact.

The steady, radiating warmth of Andy's palm. The faint, protective pressure of long fingers resting over her own. The solid brass pole beneath both their hands.

Andy hadn't even realised she was still touching her. Or perhaps... she had, and simply couldn't bring herself to pull away.

Neither of them moved.

Emily looked deep into those familiar brown eyes, eyes she had once associated with frantic coffee runs, late-night fashion layouts, sharp banter, and impossible Runway deadlines.

Now... they were softer. Open. Vulnerable. Concerned. Looking at Emily as though she were the only person on the entire revolving platform. As though the smallest wobble in her balance was something worth noticing. Worth reaching for. Worth protecting.

Emily felt a sudden, tight ache bloom unexpectedly in her chest, right behind her ribs.

"...I am alright," she managed to say eventually. Her voice was far quieter, far more breathless than she had intended.

Andy held her gaze for another long, heavy beat. "You sure?"

Emily nodded, a faint, delicate flush rising to her cheekbones. "I simply... forgot that third-trimester pregnancy has entirely rewritten my fundamental relationship with gravity."

That earned the tiniest, softest smile from Andy, her dimples appearing briefly. "It tends to do that."

Emily's own mouth twitched in response. "I dislike it immensely."

"I figured."

Neither of them removed their hands. Not immediately. Instead, they stood like that for another full, slow revolution of the carousel under the dappled July shade. The yellow giraffe rose. The orange tiger dipped. Bronwyn laughed so hard at a passing Lego statue that she snorted loudly.

"Mummy!" Bronwyn squealed, pointing wildly.

Emily looked over automatically, her voice steadying. "Yes, darling?"

"Look! People!"

Emily smiled warmly at the waving family outside the fence. "I see them, sweetheart."

When Emily turned her head back... Andy was still there. Still leaning slightly toward her, still smiling that dangerous, beautiful smile.

Only then did Andy seem to register the physical reality of what she was doing.

"...Oh," Andy murmured. A sudden, faint wash of colour touched Andy’s own cheekbones. "I, uh..."

Reluctantly, almost painfully, Andy lifted her hand from the back of Emily's. "Sorry. I didn't mean to..."

The sudden, stark absence of warmth was oddly, intensely sharp. Emily's fingers remained curled around the brass pole for another second, feeling cold where Andy's skin had just been.

"...Do not apologise," Emily said softly.

The words escaped her lips before she had given herself a single second to edit them.

Andy froze, looking up at her, dark eyes wide.

Emily met her gaze squarely, her expression open, defenseless, and entirely honest. "...It was quite helpful."

Something deep and beautiful softened across Andy's face, her shoulders relaxing. "I'm glad."

Another charged silence settled comfortably between them, no longer awkward, but heavy with an unspoken truth that neither woman was ready to name out loud, but both were undeniably feeling.

Bronwyn, blissfully unaware that the two adults beside her had just experienced an emotional tectonic shift over approximately six seconds of hand contact, threw both of her tiny arms into the air again.

"WHEEEEEEE!"

Andy broke into a warm, breathless laugh. Emily laughed too, a soft, quiet sound that felt lighter than anything she had released in months.

The carousel continued turning beneath the bright July sky. But for the remainder of the ride... every single time Emily reached up to steady Bronwyn... she found herself intensely, acutely aware of the lingering warmth on the back of her skin.

And every time Andy glanced across from her Lego tiger, her dark eyes drifted, almost involuntarily, back to Emily's hand resting on the polished brass pole, where, for one impossible, perfect moment, theirs had been joined.

The carousel slowed gradually beneath the striped canopy, the cheerful, tinny music winding down into a lazy little flourish before finally falling entirely silent.

"Thank you for riding!" the attendant called out brightly.

Bronwyn was already wriggling with wild, uncontainable anticipation against her seat. "Done?"

"We're done, baby," Andy laughed, stepping smoothly off her orange Lego tiger.

The little safety strap clicked open. Before either adult could utter another word of caution, "I'm down!"

Bronwyn slid from the yellow giraffe with surprising, toddler-fuelled competence, landing squarely on both little trainers before immediately toddling toward the open exit gate.

"Mummy! Andy! C'mon! Fast!"

"Oh, do not run so fast!" Emily called automatically, her voice full of maternal reflex.

The ride platform was still making its final rotation as Emily carefully shifted her weight, preparing to climb down from the narrow standing space beside the giraffe.

Ordinarily, stepping off a carousel involved approximately one completely forgettable, effortless movement. Unfortunately, late-stage pregnancy had recently reclassified "one completely forgettable movement" as "moderately advanced alpine mountaineering."

Emily looked down at the gap.

It wasn't a particularly large step. Merely... annoyingly, inconveniently placed. She adjusted one trainer experimentally against the wooden edge, her hand hovering over her bump. "...Hm."

Before she had quite decided how best to manoeuvre eight months of baby over polished floorboards, long-fingered hand appeared directly in front of her.

Emily looked up.

Andy stood just below the platform, one foot planted firmly on the ground below, one hand held out toward her without the slightest trace of hesitation or self-consciousness. Waiting.

Emily looked from the offered hand... to Andy's face. "...Oh."

Andy offered a small gentle smile, her dark eyes warm. "It's a bit of a step, Em."

Emily hesitated for only a single heartbeat before slipping her manicured fingers into Andy's palm. Warm. Again.

Andy closed her fingers gently around Emily's hand, not tightly, not controlling, simply enough to completely steady her.

"Ready?"

Emily nodded, breathing out softly. "I believe so."

"Okay. On three."

Andy shifted her stance almost automatically, planting both feet firmly against the concrete to anchor her centre of gravity before Emily stepped down.

Emily lowered herself carefully. One foot. Then the other.

The baby chose that exact second to perform what felt suspiciously like a full gymnastic floor routine directly against her ribs. "...Good heavens," Emily gasped softly.

"You alright?" Andy asked instantly, her grip firming up.

"Perfectly," Emily managed, a faint flush on her cheeks.

Emily's trainer reached solid ground. Yet Andy didn't loosen her grip, not until Emily's balance had completely settled. "There."

Emily let out a tiny, relieved breath. "...Thank you."

"My absolute pleasure."

Emily looked down at their joined hands.

Neither of them had moved. Neither of them had let go.

"...Andrea."

"Mhm?"

"You probably imagined today would involve considerably more theme park amusement and considerably less..." Emily gestured vaguely toward her bump with her free hand, "...human stabilisation."

Andy frowned slightly, as though the very suggestion genuinely puzzled her. "I don't mind, Em."

"You say that now."

"I mean it."

Emily offered a small apologetic smile. "I'm sorry."

"What on earth for?"

Emily glanced away toward the nearby flower beds. "You probably thought we had invited you out today simply to have fun."

"I did."

"And instead, you have spent the entire morning carrying a leather nappy bag the size of Belgium..."

Andy broke into a soft laugh.

"...running after a tiny, dictatorial toddler..."

"Bunny would prefer the title of 'executive management,'" Andy supplied dryly.

"...and repeatedly preventing me from falling over on public property."

Andy looked at her for a long, quiet second. Then, without a word, she gave Emily's hand the tiniest, softest squeeze.

"Oh, nonsense."

Emily looked back up, caught off guard by the sheer warmth in Andy's tone.

"Don't be silly," Andy murmured, her voice dropping into a register so gentle that Emily almost didn't recognise it from their Runway days. "I am having fun."

"You are?"

"Em..." Andy smiled, her dimples showing faintly. "I'm spending the day with my favourite two-year-old..."

She paused, her dark eyes locking onto Emily's.

"...and her mom."

Emily felt her heartbeat stumble violently against her ribs.

"I'd hardly call looking after me entertaining," Emily whispered, her usual sharp defense mechanism making one last, weak attempt to surface.

"I'm not 'looking after' you."

"No?"

"I'm making sure the people I care about have a good day."

The words slipped out of Andy's mouth before her brain had a single chance to filter them.

Silence. A tiny, dense, terrifyingly beautiful silence fell over the pavement.

Emily stared at her, her dark eyes wide, her breath held in her throat.

Andy blinked once, her jaw tightening as the full weight of what she had just blurted out registered. "...I mean—"

Emily's lips curved into the smallest, most defenseless smile Andy had ever seen on her face. "I know what you meant, Andrea."

Andy could actually feel the heat rising up her neck and flooding her cheekbones into a full, catastrophic blush. Wonderful. Fantastic. Thirty-three years old, award-winning journalist, reduced to the emotional competence of a middle-school student in a matter of seconds.

"...Right," Andy muttered, clearing her throat weakly.

"...Right," Emily echoed softly.

A few yards ahead of them, Bronwyn had become completely absorbed by a life-sized, brightly coloured Lego knight. She was talking to it at considerable length, gesturing animatedly with her small hands.

Neither woman noticed. Because neither woman had yet noticed something else.

They were still holding hands. Their fingers had settled together as naturally as breathing in the warm summer air.

Andy became aware of it first. She glanced down at their laced fingers. “Oh."

Emily followed her gaze down. "...Oh."

Neither of them immediately let go. Which, somehow, made the entire situation dramatically, delightfully worse.

Emily suddenly found the decorative petunia flower beds bordering the carousel path mesmerisingly fascinating. Andy became intensely, academically interested in a passing family pushing a double stroller forty feet away.

"..."

"..."

"So..." Andy managed to squeak out.

"So."

"We should probably..."

"Yes. Absolutely."

"..."

"..."

Neither of them moved an inch.

It was, Emily reflected in silent panic, astonishing how biologically difficult releasing one hand could apparently become.

Before either woman could gather enough courage to navigate the moment, "MUMMYYYYY!"

Both their heads snapped up instantly.

Bronwyn had turned around from her conversation with the Lego knight. She blinked once. Looked at Andy's face. Looked at Emily's face. And then looked very, very deliberately down at their joined hands.

Her tiny forehead wrinkled into a catastrophic frown. "...Hey."

Emily froze. Andy froze.

Bronwyn marched back across the pathway with immense, militant toddler determination, planting both tiny fists squarely on her hips when she reached them. "Mine."

Emily had precisely enough time to whisper sideways to Andy, "...We are currently being reprimanded."

"I am almost certain we are," Andy whispered back.

Bronwyn stepped up to them. Looked down at their hands again. Then, with all the solemn authority of a tiny Supreme Court justice, she reached up and physically pried their fingers apart.

"No."

Andy immediately surrendered with exaggerated, dramatic obedience, lifting her hands into the air. "Oh."

Emily couldn't quite suppress the quiet, breathless laugh that escaped her.

Bronwyn stepped directly into the physical gap between them. "There."

She seized Emily's hand with her left fist. Then she seized Andy's hand with her right fist.

One in each tiny grip. Satisfied, she gave one triumphant nod of her head. "Now."

Andy bit her lower lip hard to stop from laughing out loud. Emily's shoulders were already shaking silently beside her.

Bronwyn looked up at both of them, completely, blissfully oblivious to the fact that she had just interrupted the closest thing either adult had experienced to an intimate romantic moment in over a decade.

"Holding hands," Bronwyn instructed firmly.

"Yes, Bunny," Andy said gravely, looking down at her. "We are holding hands."

Bronwyn beamed, her whole face lighting up. "Everybody."

Emily looked across the top of Bronwyn's dark curls at Andy. Andy looked back at Emily. Both of them promptly looked away again, smiling so helplessly, so ridiculously, that it was almost embarrassing.

Bronwyn, meanwhile, resumed marching proudly toward the next park attraction, swinging both of their arms in massive, enthusiastic arcs.

"I biiiiig," the toddler declared to the sunlit park.

"You certainly are, my darling," Emily murmured softly.

"I boss," Bronwyn reminded them, giving their hands an extra tug.

Andy laughed, her dark eyes shining in the July heat. "That, Bunny, has become abundantly clear to everyone in North America."

As Bronwyn happily led them away down the paved path, neither Emily nor Andy mentioned that although Bronwyn had officially separated their hands... she had somehow found a way to join them together all over again.

-

The late afternoon sun had climbed higher, casting long, honey-gold shadows across the brick pathways as they stumbled out of yet another ride.

The frantic excitement that had fuelled Bronwyn since nine o'clock in the morning had finally, decisively begun to wear off. Her tiny pink sneakers no longer skipped or scampered across the pavement.

Instead... drag… drag… drag.

Each tiny step was noticeably slower than the last. Her pigtails, which had been bouncing merrily all morning like frayed pom-poms, now hung limply against her neck.

Emily noticed almost immediately, her maternal radar pinging. "You alright, peanut?"

Bronwyn nodded with far too much sheer, stubborn determination. "Mhm."

Another three sluggish, torturous steps.

Then—"Yaaaaawn..."

An enormous, jaw-stretching yawn ripped through the little girl. It was so big her entire tiny body shuddered, and she had to come to a complete dead stop halfway through it just to keep her balance.

Emily couldn't help the quiet, warm laugh that escaped her. "Oh dear."

Andy looked over from beside them.

Bronwyn was blinking slowly now, her eyelashes heavy, rubbing one eye with the soft back of her tiny fist as though it had suddenly become too much effort to keep both open at the same time. Even standing upright seemed to require immense, heroic concentration.

Emily wasn't doing much better herself. She had stifled at least four separate yawns in the last ten minutes alone. The sheer adrenaline of navigating a bustling theme park while eight months pregnant, running after a fiercely independent two-year-old in the sweltering July heat, had finally abandoned her completely.

Andy glanced sideways, her dark eyes sharp with quiet observation. "You look exhausted, Em."

Emily immediately denied it, her posture snapping straight out of pure habit. "What? Don't be ridiculous. I am fine."

She yawned halfway through the word fine.

Andy couldn't help the broad, dimpled smile spreading across her face. "Mhm."

"I am serious, Andrea." Emily squeezed her eyes shut briefly, covering her mouth with a hand. "...Mostly."

Andy laughed quietly, the sound rich and warm in the warm afternoon air.

Bronwyn finally reached them at approximately the pace of a sleepy, sun-baked snail. She looked up at Emily with heavy, half-closed eyes, her lower lip pouting slightly.

"...Mummy..."

Emily’s sharp, protective edges softened into pure tenderness in less than a second. "Mm? What is it, darling?"

Bronwyn lifted both arms dramatically into the air, reaching up. "...Carry."

Emily smiled down at her. "Oh? You want Mummy to carry you?"

A tiny, desperate nod. "...Yeppp..." Her little voice was already so thick with sleep that the word slurred at the edges.

Emily's smile softened further. "Come here then, darling."

She shifted her weight, bracing a hand against her back as she prepared to crouch down toward the pavement. "Up you come, sweetheart—"

"Hang on."

Emily looked up, startled.

Andy had already slipped the heavy, overflowing leather nappy bag off her own shoulder with fluid ease. Without a single word, she held it out directly toward Emily.

Emily blinked, her forehead creasing in confusion. "...Hm?"

"The bag," Andy said simply, giving it a light, encouraging shake as she waited for Emily to take the strap.

Emily frowned, looking at the bag strap and then at Andy's face. "...Why?"

"So I can carry her."

For a full second, Emily simply stared at her, completely motionless. "...You want to carry Bronwyn?"

Andy nodded once, her expression entirely calm. "Yes."

Emily’s hand instinctively reached back toward Bronwyn's shoulder out of long-standing habit. "Andrea, it's alright. Really, I can—"

"I know you can," Andy interrupted gently, her voice smooth and steady. "But you've been carrying her, and a baby boy, all morning."

Emily opened her mouth to argue. "I don't mind—"

"I know."

"—and she is getting heavier with every passing month."

"I noticed," Andy replied dryly.

That earned a sleepy, breathless little huff of a laugh from Emily.

Andy continued holding the bag out, her dark eyes lock-steady on Emily's. "So. The bag, Em?"

Emily looked from the bag... to Andy's resolute face... then down to Bronwyn, who was standing between them with drooping eyelids, swaying ever so slightly where she stood like a small, sleepy pendulum.

"...Are you sure?" Emily asked softly.

"Yes."

"You really don't have to do this, Andrea."

"I know." Andy paused, her gaze softening into something extraordinarily warm. "I want to."

The words were so simple. No dramatic hesitation. No performative reluctance.

Emily felt something intensely warm, deep, and unbidden bloom squarely in the center of her chest.

"...Okay," she whispered.

She reached out and accepted the heavy bag, slinging it over her shoulder. Only then did Andy crouch down smoothly in front of the toddler.

"Come here, sweetheart," Andy murmured.

Bronwyn lifted her sleepy little arms immediately, without a single second of hesitation. Andy slipped one arm firmly beneath her knees and wrapped the other securely around her small back.

"Ready, sweetie?"

A tiny, muffled nod against Andy's neck. "Mm..."

"Up we go."

Andy stood up in one smooth, powerful movement, lifting Bronwyn effortlessly against her chest. Bronwyn barely made a sound. Instead, she instinctively curled her small body directly into Andy, tiny arms wrapping lazily around Andy's neck as if she had been doing it every day of her life. Her warm, flushed cheek settled comfortably right into the crook of Andy's shoulder.

"...Comfy, Bunny?" Andy asked quietly.

"Mhm..." Her tiny voice was barely an audible breath.

Andy adjusted her ever so slightly, one long hand supporting her back while the other rested securely beneath her legs, holding her tight. Within moments... Bronwyn's body went completely, blissfully limp with sleep.

Emily looked over in absolute, stunned surprise. "...Already?"

Andy glanced down at the little girl tucked against her collarbone. The toddler had fallen asleep almost instantaneously. Her warm, flushed cheek was pressed firmly against Andy's shirt, tiny, rhythmic breaths fanning softly against Andy's neck. One small hand still clutched a fold of Andy's denim jacket.

Andy couldn't stop the small, wonder-filled smile from touching her lips. "I think she's completely worn out."

Emily stared at the peaceful little face nestled so comfortably against Andy's shoulder, her own eyes warm and dark. "...She really trusts you, Andrea."

Andy looked down at the sleeping child in her arms, her chest rising and falling slowly. "...I hope so."

Emily's smile grew just a little softer, a quiet emotion flickering behind her eyes. "I don't think she would fall asleep like that if she didn't."

Andy didn't answer. She just adjusted Bronwyn ever so slightly, shifting her weight to make sure the little girl was entirely secure before they began walking together down the path.

Bronwyn was completely gone, deep in the land of toddler dreams. Her head rested heavily against Andy's shoulder, warm little breaths tickling Andy's collarbone at steady intervals.

Andy looked sideways, her heart thumping quietly. "...I think she officially wore herself out."

Emily smiled softly beside her. "So did we."

They wandered far more slowly now, no longer chasing ride turnstiles, park maps, or scheduled character appearances. Instead, they searched for somewhere quiet, somewhere away from the bright primary colours and loud music.

Eventually, tucked near the rear edge of the park, they found a shaded seating area beneath a cluster of large, weeping willow trees. The air beneath the canopy was noticeably cooler, and a light, summer breeze drifted through every now and then, rustling the leaves overhead. It was perfect.

Andy lowered herself carefully onto a long wooden bench, moving with excruciating slowness so as not to jostle her sleeping cargo. Bronwyn didn't stir at all, she merely let out a long, sleepy sigh and snuggled an inch closer into Andy's neck.

Emily sat down beside them on the bench, letting out a long, shuddering breath. "Oh... goodness."

"Nice?" Andy asked softly.

"Heavenly," Emily murmured.

Andy nodded, a small smirk playing on her lips. "For once... no queue."

Emily laughed softly, resting a hand over her bump. "No queue indeed."

For a long while... neither of them spoke.

Distantly, families wandered past on the main thoroughfares. Children squealed in the far distance, and the faint, low rumble of a rollercoaster track echoed over the trees. But here beneath the shadow of the leaves, everything sounded strangely, delightfully far away.

Emily rested her elbows on her knees, staring down at her sandals. "I think I genuinely forgot how utterly exhausting theme parks are."

Andy chuckled, her voice low so as not to wake Bronwyn. "You've done amazingly well today, Em."

Emily looked up, her dark eyes tired but soft. "Have I really?"

"Mhm."

"I've mostly just been trying to keep Bronwyn alive and reasonably hydrated."

"You succeeded," Andy pointed out.

"Barely."

Another soft, shared laugh drifted between them.

Then... silence returned. A comfortable, deep, profoundly easy silence.

Emily leaned her back fully against the bench frame. She closed her eyes—just for a second, she told herself. Only to rest them against the glare of the July sun. She wasn't actually going to sleep. Absolutely not. Just... rest. One minute. Maybe two.

The cool breeze brushed gently across her face. The distant chatter of the park blurred together into a steady, white-noise hum. Her shoulders loosened. Her jaw relaxed. Her breathing slowed.

Andy turned her head slightly after a few minutes. "Emily?"

No answer.

Andy thought Emily simply hadn't heard over the rustling leaves. "Em?"

Still nothing.

Andy frowned slightly, turning more fully toward her.

Emily's head had tilted awkwardly to one side against the hard wooden backrest of the bench. Her lips were parted just slightly, her dark eyelashes resting long and dark against her pale cheeks. Her breathing was slow, even, and deeply peaceful.

Andy blinked, stunned. "...Oh."

She had fallen asleep.

A tiny smile tugged helplessly at the corners of Andy's lips. Of course she had. She had been running around after Bronwyn all day while carrying eight months of pregnancy.

Andy watched her for another long moment. Emily looked... completely different asleep. All the sharp, protective lines of fierce concentration and high-fashion defense she wore throughout her waking life had completely dissolved. She looked younger. Gentler. Vulnerable in a way that made Andy's chest ache.

Andy hesitated, her heart hammering against her ribs.

Emily's neck was bent at an uncomfortable, painful angle against the wooden bench. She would definitely wake up with a terrible ache if she stayed like that for the next half hour.

"...Sorry," Andy whispered so softly that the summer breeze nearly carried it away entirely.

Very, very carefully... she lifted her free hand.

Slowly. Steadily. As though approaching a wild, frightened bird.

Her fingertips brushed with exquisite lightness against Emily's soft red hair. She tucked a loose, stray curl behind Emily's ear first, her warm skin grazing Emily's temple. Then, with the gentlest, most microscopic pressure imaginable... she nudged the side of Emily's head. Just enough.

Emily shifted instinctively in her sleep, letting out a soft, subconscious sigh. Her head tipped sideways, until her temple came to rest squarely against Andy's shoulder.

Andy froze. Completely and utterly. She stopped breathing altogether.

Emily sighed again, her body relaxing further, not waking at all. Just... settling. Her soft cheek rested flush against the fabric of Andy's shirt now, warm through the cotton. One of her hands had slipped loosely into her own lap, and a few strands of her hair brushed softly against Andy's neck whenever the breeze passed through the willow trees.

On Andy's left shoulder... Bronwyn slept soundly, her tiny toddler thumb tucked loosely near her mouth. On Andy's right shoulder... Emily slept peacefully, her breathing long, slow, and deep.

One little girl. One grown woman. Both somehow trusting her enough to fall completely asleep against her in the middle of a crowded world.

Andy looked down at the dark hair resting against her neck, then at the toddler curled against her chest. Her heart felt so impossibly, overwhelmingly full that it actually frightened her.

She didn't dare move an inch. She didn't even dare draw a deep breath, terrified that the rise and fall of her chest might disturb either of them.

If she could have frozen time... if she could have trapped this exact, quiet afternoon under the willow trees and kept it forever... Andy knew, without a single shadow of a doubt, that she would have stayed right here.

So instead... she simply smiled to herself in the dappled shade. She stayed exactly where she was. For as long as both of them needed her.

Time drifted lazily by under the canopy of the weeping willow trees.

The afternoon noises of the theme park faded into a pleasant, distant blur. Somewhere beyond their quiet haven, children shrieked with joyful terror as a roller coaster plunged down its first steep drop. A carousel organ played faintly on the passing breeze, its tinny, cheerful melody softened by the distance. Nearby, someone laughed, a bright, ringing sound.

Bronwyn slept blissfully through all of it. Curled securely against Andy's shoulder, her soft cheek flushed with the warmth of sleep, one tiny hand remained loosely fisted in the worn fabric of Andy's jacket.

Emily wasn't much different. Her breathing had become long, slow, and even, her cheek resting comfortably against Andy's opposite shoulder.

Andy hadn't moved. Not once. She hadn't shifted her hips, hadn't stretched her legs, hadn't even reached for her water bottle. She had simply sat there on the wooden bench, acting as an anchor, letting them both rest.

Eventually...Emily stirred.

A tiny, elegant frown crossed her face. Her long, dark eyelashes fluttered once. She blinked. Once. Twice.

Still hazy with the heavy, disorienting fog of sleep, Emily instinctively shifted, lifting her head just enough to rub at her left eye with the back of her hand, letting out a soft, subconscious noise. "...Mm..."

For a few blissfully unaware seconds, she simply sat there in the dappled shade, her mind slowly piecing together time and space.

Then she looked sideways. 

Andy. 

Emily froze. Every muscle in her body locked instantly into place. Her eyes widened into startled saucers. "...Oh my—"

She jerked upright so quickly her balance wobbled, her centre of gravity protesting the sudden movement. "I am so sorry!"

Her face flushed a brilliant, catastrophic scarlet almost instantly, the blush spreading rapidly from her collarbone to her forehead. "I—I fell asleep on you!"

Andy couldn't help laughing, a soft, warm, utterly helpless chuckle that rumbled in her chest. "Hey."

Emily looked absolutely, thoroughly mortified, clutching her bump with one hand while smoothing her dark hair with the other. "I didn't mean to, I just meant to rest my eyes for a a second—"

"Hey," Andy repeated, her voice dropping into that quiet, soothing register. She offered a broad, dimpled smile. "Relax, Em."

Emily looked as though she genuinely wanted the wooden park bench to open up and swallow her whole. "Oh my God. I must have crushed your shoulder."

"...You didn't crush anything. I actually moved you."

Emily blinked, her hand pausing in her hair. "...You what?"

"Your neck." Andy tilted her own head awkwardly to the side at a sharp, painful angle to demonstrate. "It was bent against the bench backrest at a very questionable, highly dangerous angle. I'm pretty sure you would have needed physical therapy tomorrow."

Emily stared at her, her lips parted slightly.

"So I figured..." Andy shrugged lightly, her dark eyes sparkling with affectionate mischief. "...my shoulder would probably be considerably kinder to your spine."

Emily continued to stare at her, her cheeks still flaming. "Oh."

A tiny, charged pause settled between them.

"...Well..." Emily looked down at her lap, nervously tucking a stray strand of dark hair behind her ear, completely unable to meet Andy's gaze. "...your shoulder made a remarkably comfortable pillow, as it happens."

Andy's smile widened. "I am truly honoured."

Emily glanced up through her lashes. 

"To serve as your personal upholstery."

Emily made the immediate mistake of meeting Andy's eyes directly. The amused, fond little grin waiting for her there made her blush burn even harder.

"Oh, stop it," Emily grumbled softly, shielding her face with one manicured hand.

"I'm serious."

"You are not."

"I am absolutely, one hundred percent serious," Andy insisted softly, her voice rich with warmth.

Emily laughed quietly despite herself, hiding her flushed face behind her fingers. "This is wildly embarrassing."

"It really isn't."

"It really is, Andrea."

Andy shook her head gently. "I promise I have fully survived the grueling experience."

Emily huffed out another tiny, breathless laugh, her hand dropping back into her lap.

Silence settled over the bench once more. But it was no longer tense or awkward, it was comfortable, easy, and thick with a mutual understanding.

Andy looked down at the little girl sleeping peacefully against her left shoulder. "...Looks like someone isn't waking up anytime soon."

Emily followed her gaze. Bronwyn hadn't moved an inch. Her thumb was still tucked loosely near her mouth, her tiny chest rising and falling in deep, unbroken toddler sleep.

Andy glanced back at Emily. Then... without a single word... she lifted her right shoulder ever so slightly. An almost imperceptible, beautifully deliberate invitation.

"Come on," she whispered. "You can rest a little longer."

Emily blinked, taken aback. "...What?"

"Bronwyn's still fast asleep," Andy pointed out, giving a nod toward the toddler. "We're not going anywhere for a while."

Emily laughed nervously, her hand fidgeting with the hem of her cardigan. "I couldn't possibly."

"Why not?"

"I have already improperly used your shoulder as a pillow once today."

"And?"

"I can't just..." Emily gestured vaguely in the air between them, "...do it again."

"You can," Andy said softly. "I'm explicitly giving you permission."

Emily bit the inside of her cheek, conflict warring across her sharp features. "...I don't know..."

Slowly, painfully, hesitantly slowly, Emily leaned perhaps half an inch in Andy's direction. Then she stopped dead. Thought about it. Moved another microscopic fraction. Stopped again.

Andy watched the entire, exquisitely British internal crisis unfold with growing, fond amusement.

"...Em," Andy murmured softly.

Emily froze instantly. "Hm?"

Andy smiled, her eyes brimming with pure tenderness. "Oh, Em."

Before Emily could overthink herself right back into retreating into her high-fashion defense shell, Andy simply reached up with her right hand. She rested her fingers with featherlight pressure against the side of Emily's head... and gave the gentlest, most microscopic little nudge imaginable.

Barely enough force to tilt a feather.

Emily made the tiniest, most undignified squeak of surprise. "...Andy."

"There," Andy smiled as Emily's head came to rest flush against her shoulder once more. "Much better."

Emily's head stayed right where it was. This time... she didn't attempt to pull away.

"...You are impossible," Emily murmured into the fabric of Andy's shirt.

"So I've been told by several prominent editors."

Emily let out a long, shuddering, contented sigh that seemed to drain the remaining tension from her limbs. "...Warm."

Andy looked down slightly, her heart doing a strange, fluttering flip. "Hm?"

"You are very warm, Andrea."

Andy smiled secretly to herself, resting her cheek lightly against the top of Emily's hair. "I'll take that as a massive compliment."

"It was one."

Neither of them spoke for a long time after that. There wasn't any need to fill the air with empty words. The cool summer breeze drifted lazily through the willow leaves overhead. Bronwyn slept soundly on Andy's left shoulder, and Emily rested quietly on her right.

Andy found herself smiling again, staring out at the sun-dappled grass. She wondered, briefly and with a sudden pang of deep emotion, if she would ever truly get used to moments like this. She rather hoped she wouldn't.

After a long while... Andy spoke. Her voice was low, quiet, and carried entirely beneath the rustle of the trees. "So..."

Emily made a sleepy, contented little sound from her shoulder. "Mhm?"

"I was serious," Andy said softly.

Emily didn't answer right away, just listened to the steady beat of Andy's pulse beneath her cheek.

Andy continued quietly. "...Earlier. When we were walking."

"...About what?"

"About the baby."

Emily became very still against her, her breathing catching slightly.

Andy looked straight ahead at the distant families wandering along the park paths, her expression earnest and completely devoid of pretense. "I meant every single word I said, Em. When the baby's here..."

She paused, taking a slow, steady breath. "If you need someone to hold him while you take a shower... I'm there. If you need someone to cook so you don’t have to bother... I'm there. If you're exhausted and just need two hours to sleep without worrying... I'm there."

A soft, faint smile touched Andy's lips. "If you just need someone to sit with you in silence because it's been an overwhelming day... I'm there too."

A long beautiful pause settled over them.

"You don't have to do it all by yourself, Em," Andy whispered, her voice laced with absolute sincerity. "So... just remember... you'll always have me. Okay?"

For a moment... nothing happened. The world kept turning around them in silence.

Then... Andy felt the tiniest, softest movement against her shoulder.

Emily nodded. Once. A very small, barely perceptible nod.

"So stubborn," Andy murmured fondly, her eyes shining.

Emily let out a tiny, breathless laugh under her breath against Andy's shirt. "...I'll text you."

"So you will."

"When I need you," Emily added softly, as if establishing a formal contract.

Andy's smile softened completely. "Whenever you need me, Em. Any time. Day or night."

Emily didn't answer aloud. She wasn't very good at asking for help, never had been. Even after Bronwyn was born, she had taught herself to carry every heavy burden entirely alone. Not because she wanted to, but because she had convinced herself long ago that relying on only herself was safer than hoping someone would choose to stay.

So the very idea of actually reaching out... of sending a simple text message that said Can you come over? or I am having a difficult day... it still felt completely strange. Almost impossible.

...But maybe...

Maybe Andy was different. Maybe, one day very soon, Emily would finally allow herself to type that message. Maybe she would even press send. Just... maybe.

Emily nodded again against Andy's shoulder. This time... she didn't lift her head. She simply stayed exactly where she was, letting herself believe those words for the very first time in a very long while.

She let herself believe that she didn't have to carry the weight of the world on her own shoulders. That perhaps... some people stayed. That some people chose to stay.

And as the golden afternoon sunlight filtered gently through the weeping willow leaves above them, with Bronwyn fast asleep on her left shoulder and Emily resting peacefully on her right, Andy sat perfectly still in the quiet shade.

Not because she was afraid to disturb them anymore. But because, somewhere along the way, this had stopped feeling like looking after someone else's family...and had started to feel extraordinarily, undeniably like coming home.