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Andrea had been ready since ten.
Not just dressed—she had been ready. Emotionally, mentally, in that quiet, hopeful way that made everything feel a little more fragile than usual.
She sat on the edge of the couch, phone in hand, rereading the appointment reminder for what felt like the hundredth time.
11:00 AM. Ultrasound.
She pressed her lips together, then glanced at the door.
“She’ll make it,” she whispered, more like a wish than a statement.
At Runway, Miranda Priestly was already in the middle of controlled chaos.
“No,” she said, flipping through a set of layouts. “This is unimaginative. Fix it.”
“The board is waiting—”
“They can continue waiting.”
“Miranda, the Milan call—”
“Cancel it.”
Emily blinked. “You told me never to cancel Milan.”
Miranda didn’t even look up. “And yet, here we are.”
Her phone buzzed.
Andrea.
Everything else—just for a second—paused.
Miranda answered immediately. “Andrea.”
“Hey,” Andrea said softly. “Are you on your way?”
Miranda stood, already moving into her office. “I am attempting to be.”
Andrea let out a small breath. “My appointment’s in thirty minutes.”
“I know.”
“I asked if they could move it,” Andrea added, voice careful. “They said the specialist’s only in today… next opening is in two weeks.”
Miranda’s jaw tightened. “Unacceptable.”
“I didn’t want to wait that long,” Andrea admitted quietly. “I mean—we could, but…”
“But you don’t want to,” Miranda finished.
“…I don’t.”
A pause.
Miranda turned toward the window, already calculating. “I’ll move the board meeting.”
Emily, standing just outside, mouthed what?
“Miranda—” Andrea started.
“No. This is not something I miss,” Miranda said firmly. “I will be there.”
Andrea smiled faintly, though something uncertain lingered. “Okay.”
Ten minutes later—
“Miranda,” Emily said carefully, stepping in, “the board refused to move.”
Miranda didn’t look up. “Then move them.”
“I tried.”
“And?”
“They said if you’re not there, they’ll proceed without you.”
Silence.
That was not a small threat.
Miranda’s fingers stilled over the document in front of her.
“…Fine,” she said at last, cold and precise. “Push everything else back. I’ll leave after.”
Emily hesitated. “That still puts you… late.”
Miranda didn’t respond.
At the clinic, Andrea sat in the waiting area, her phone resting in her lap.
She stared at the empty chair beside her.
“I know,” she murmured softly, resting a hand over her stomach. “She said she’d try.”
Her phone buzzed.
Miranda.
Andrea answered quickly. “Hey—”
“I’m delayed,” Miranda said, voice tight with frustration she wasn’t bothering to hide anymore. “The board is being… deliberately difficult.”
Andrea closed her eyes briefly. “How delayed?”
"..."
Andrea exhaled slowly. “It’s okay.”
“It isn’t.”
“I can wait a little,” Andrea offered. “Maybe they’ll—”
“They won’t,” Miranda said. “And you know that.”
Andrea nodded to herself. “Yeah.”
Another pause, softer this time.
“I don’t want to miss this,” Miranda said, quieter.
“I know you don’t.”
Andrea looked down, thumb brushing lightly over her bump.
“We could reschedule,” she said gently. “Wait two weeks.”
Miranda didn’t answer immediately.
Two weeks.
For Miranda, that was nothing.
For Andrea… it felt like forever.
“…No,” Andrea decided softly. “I’ve been thinking about this every day. I don’t think I can wait that long.”
Miranda closed her eyes.
“…Alright.”
“I’ll tell you everything,” Andrea promised. “Or—we can find out together later.”
Miranda frowned slightly. “What do you mean?”
Andrea smiled, just a little. “You’ll see.”
“…Call me when you’re done,” Miranda said.
“I will.”
The scan room was quiet, dimly lit.
“Well,” the doctor said warmly, “are we finding out today?”
Andrea smiled, nervous but excited. “Yes… just—don’t tell me yet.”
The doctor blinked. “Oh?”
“I want to tell my wife together,” Andrea said softly.
The doctor smiled. “Alright. We’ll write it down.”
By the time Miranda arrived home that evening, tension still lingered in the sharp line of her shoulders.
She set her bag down. “Andrea?”
“In the kitchen!” came multiple voices.
Miranda paused.
Then walked in—
—and stopped.
Andrea stood by the counter, laughing softly, while Cassidy and Caroline hovered nearby, clearly in the middle of cooking… or attempting to.
“Mom!” Caroline called, grinning. “You’re home.”
Miranda raised a brow. “I see that dinner has become a… collaborative effort.”
Cassidy beamed. “We helped Andrea.”
Andrea snorted lightly. “They supervised me.”
Miranda’s gaze shifted to Andrea’s stomach. “You went.”
Andrea nodded gently. “I had to.”
A brief silence passed.
“And?” Miranda asked, quieter now.
Andrea’s lips curved. “We don’t know.”
Miranda blinked. “You don’t—?”
Cassidy bounced slightly. “We waited for you, Mom!”
Caroline held up a small envelope. “It’s in here.”
Something in Miranda’s expression softened—just a fraction.
“…I see.”
They moved to the living room together, the air warmer now, lighter.
Andrea stepped closer to Miranda. “Together?”
Miranda nodded once. “Obviously.”
They opened the envelope.
Andrea’s breath caught first, a smile breaking across her face.
Miranda leaned in—
—and for once, she didn’t mask it.
A soft, genuine smile.
“A girl,” Andrea whispered.
“Another one!” Cassidy cheered.
Caroline laughed. “Mom, you’re outnumbered.”
Miranda tilted her head slightly, amusement flickering through her eyes. “I’ve handled worse.”
Andrea nudged her gently. “Are you mad?”
Miranda looked at her, expression steady—but softer than anyone else ever saw.
“I am,” she said.
Andrea blinked. “You are?”
“That I wasn’t there,” Miranda clarified.
The room quieted.
Miranda reached for Andrea’s hand, intertwining their fingers.
“But,” she added, voice low and certain, “you made sure I didn’t miss it.”
Andrea smiled. “Always.” As they stared into each other's eyes, with no doubt their lips crashed together.
Cassidy groaned. “Okay, that was way too sweet.”
Caroline nodded. “Seriously. Stop. Gross.”
One of the twins just huffed as one tried to throw a pillow at them to which Miranda caught and playfully threw it back at the wrong twin.
Miranda didn’t let go of Andrea.
“Dinner,” she said, composed again—but warmer now. “Let’s see what you’ve all managed to produce.”
Andrea leaned into her as they walked back to the kitchen.
And this time, Miranda didn’t look at her phone.
Not once.