Page 113 of Breakaway Daddies

And then everything goes sideways.

I try to run. I really do. I take two enthusiastic steps forward—well, waddles—and my feet sink into the grass, my center of gravity shifts.

Before I can shout “Abort mission!”, I trip over absolutely nothing and go down like a majestic, slow-motion oak.

“Jinx!” three voices scream in unison.

Thomas dives dramatically toward me like we’re reenacting a war movie. Rowan appears out of nowhere to catch my elbow. Bruno just throws his sketchpad aside and yells something in Slovak that I’m pretty sure translates to “What did I say?”

“I’m okay!” I wheeze, lying on my back, arms spread wide like I’m making a grass angel. “I’m fine. That was… planned. Tactical collapse.”

Thomas hovers over me, concerned and clearly trying not to laugh. “You sure you’re alright? Because that was some Olympic-level flailing.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m good,” I groan, letting Rowan help me to my feet. “Apparently, I am not built for sports. Or gravity. Or dignity.”

Bruno brushes imaginary dust from my back with the exaggerated care of someone who has absolutely no faith in my self-preservation instincts. “You’re banned from physical exertion forever. I mean it. Sit. Hydrate. Think about snakes.”

“I always think about snakes,” I mutter as they walk me back to the bench like I’ve just finished a triathlon instead of eating dirt five seconds into a fake football game.

Kenzie and Ally are already laughing so hard they’re wheezing. I collapse back into my seat, grab my juice box, and raise it like a toast.

“To motherhood,” I say. “A noble journey filled with joy, sacrifice, and deeply humiliating park injuries.”

Ally clinks her juice box against mine. “Cheers, Mama Snake. You gave it your all.”

“Next time,” I promise solemnly, “I’m bringing a Nerf gun.”

Kenzie brushes a curl out of her eyes as she hands me back my babies. “So… how are your parents taking everything these days?”

I shrug, rocking gently on my heels. “They’re adjusting. Still have moments where Mom looks like she’s trying not to askhowthis all works, but she’s stopped bringing pamphlets.” I sigh happily. “But my brother has been the best. The most supportive, ride or die uncle I could’ve asked for. A blessing, honestly. Doesn’t matter who the dad is or how weird it looks from the outside. He’s just… here. Every time.”

Ally follows my gaze and smiles, warm and wide. “Yeah, he’s a good one.”

“We’re lucky.”

We all are.

The three of us move in without saying anything, just one of those wordless group hugs that moms do, arms half-full of kids, still holding juice boxes, legs tangled in someone’s sticky limbs. It’s clumsy, messy, beautiful.

We hold onto each other for a second longer than necessary, but no one pulls away. We just exist like that, three women who’ve weathered storms and births and breakdowns, wrapped around each other like a safety net.

It’s not perfect.

The kids are still yelling. Someone is definitely crying in the background, probably not one of ours, which somehow makes it worse. A bubble wand explodes nearby with a loudpopand a squeal of betrayal.

Thomas is now wearing the football like a hat, and Bruno is explaining the history of Slovak siege weaponry to an audience of zero.

Rowan is attempting, valiantly, to herd all the small ones into a line for snacks, which is going about as well as you’d expect.

But this? This moment?

Perfect.

I shift the babies in my arms, watching Orion yawn like a tiny lion cub and Lyra stretch, one foot poking out from under the soft blanket. A small kick rolls through my belly, gentle but insistent, like this new little person already wants in on the chaos.

I smile down at them, at all of them, and then up at the sky, blue, cloud-speckled, endless.

“I don’t know how we got here,” I murmur, mostly to myself. “But I’m so damn glad we did.”

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