Three Months Later.

Three Months Later.
Alina

Three months. That’s how long it’s been since the fire, since the smoke, since the night my world exploded and somehow rebuilt itself in the same breath. The Donatello estate has mostly recovered. The walls are new, the garden is cleaner, but the scorched patches on the stone path are still there—a reminder of what it cost to keep this family standing. The house now smells like lemon polish and fresh paint, not ash. The men are louder again. The laughter is real again. And me? I’m huge.
Wildly, uncomfortably, ridiculously huge.
Every part of me is swollen and sore, and Bean seems to think my ribs are a drum. My ankles look like they’ve swallowed grapefruits, I can’t see my own feet, and the only shoes I wear now are Hunter’s slides because they don’t require bending. I waddle—there’s no other word for it—and everyone in this damn house watches me like I might suddenly topple over and explode out a baby. The only silver lining? No one tells me no anymore, not after that day.

After my father was taken down—publicly, humiliatingly—the Donatello name became more than power. It became fearless. Ariana is restructuring the businesses that we inherited from my father. Isla’s running security for them, and I… well, I’ve apparently been crowned “Queen of the Couch.” Hunter’s words, not mine.
He’s at the stove now, shirt sleeves rolled up, flipping something that smells like heaven. Kaiden’s across the room assembling furniture for the nursery—something wooden with too many screws. I’ve offered to help twice, but Kaiden just gives me that look, the one that says, you even think about standing up and I’ll tie you to the sofa.
So I sit. In the biggest armchair we own, draped in a blanket I don’t need because I’m constantly overheating, and I watch them move through the house like it’s something sacred. It kind of is. Hunter hums under his breath while he cooks, his hair a little too long, stubble dark across his jaw. He keeps glancing over his shoulder, as if he takes his eyes off me for longer than ten seconds, I’ll suddenly go into labour to spite him. Kaiden’s hammering something in the nursery doorway, muttering about “poorly written instructions” and “some sadistic designer with a screw fetish.” Every few minutes, he comes over to check on me—pretending it’s to get a drink or snack, but I know the truth. They’re terrified. They’ll deny it, of course, but every twitch, every groan, every tiny wince from me has both of them on high alert.
“Stop looking at me like I’m a bomb,” I grumble.
Hunter looks over from the stove. “Can’t help it, Kitten. You’re ticking.”
Kaiden smirks without turning. “More like a volcano.”
I throw a pillow at him—it misses by a mile.
Hunter catches it before it hits the floor and tosses it back onto the couch. “Careful, Kaiden. Last time someone made that comparison, she almost bit their head off.”
I arch a brow. “Almost?”
He grins. “You were busy eating ice cream.”

I rest a hand on my stomach as Bean shifts, slow and heavy, like he’s stretching. My heart squeezes. “He’s going to be a big one,” I mumble.
Kaiden glances over his shoulder. “Of course he is. Look who his parents are.”
“God help us all,” Hunter adds.
They share a grin that makes my chest ache—the kind that says we made it.
Hunter brings over a plate a minute later, sets it on the coffee table, and crouches in front of me. “You need to eat something, sweetheart.”
“I’m always eating something.”
“Then keep the streak going.” He picks up a fork and waves it at me until I take it.
I roll my eyes but take a bite anyway. It’s warm, buttery, perfect. “Okay. Fine. Worth it.”
Kaiden finally gives up on the furniture, drops his tools, and comes to sit beside me. The couch dips under his weight. He rests a hand on my knee, thumb tracing circles absently. His eyes soften. “You doing okay, baby?”
“Uncomfortable. Hungry. Enormous. You know—glowing.”
He laughs quietly and leans in to kiss the top of my head. “You’re perfect.”
Hunter sits down on the floor in front of me, leaning back against my legs, his hand resting gently over Kaiden’s on my knee. “You’re incredible,” he says simply.
I swallow hard. They mean it. I can see it in their faces. We’re not the same people we were three months ago. We’ve been tempered by fire, rebuilt by love, and now, somehow, we’re just waiting. Waiting for the moment the world changes all over again. I reach down, take both of their hands, and place them on my stomach. Bean kicks once, strong enough to make Kaiden laugh.
“There’s our boy,” he murmurs.
“Our little fighter,” Hunter says.
I close my eyes for a second, letting the warmth sink in.

The night settles around us. Dinner fades into laughter, then yawns, then Hunter insists I go to bed before I fall asleep sitting upright. Kaiden’s the one who helps me up, with steady hands and a small grin as I complain about feeling like a whale on stilts. Hunter turns off the lights behind us, leaving the soft glow of the hallway lamps to guide the way. By the time I make it to the bedroom, my back’s aching and Bean’s doing gymnastics. Kaiden disappears into the en-suite, comes back with lotion, and gives that look that means 'don’t argue,' as if I would. He kneels beside the bed, rubbing my calves until some of the ache eases, his touch slow and careful. Hunter slides in behind me, pulling me back against his chest, his breath warm against the side of my neck.
“Comfortable?” he murmurs.
“Not even a little,” I mumble, but I’m smiling anyway.
Kaiden chuckles. “Go to sleep, baby. Tomorrow’ll be easier.”
I almost laugh at that.
Sleep comes in fragments. I drift, wake, drift again. The boys breathe steady beside me, a rhythm I could find in the dark without trying. I dream of water—waves crashing, the ocean spreading out beneath me, endless and calm. Then a sharp pressure pulls me up from it, a warmth that isn’t the sea at all. I blink, heart thudding, disoriented for a second until I realise what I’m feeling.
Oh.
Oh, hell.
The sheets beneath me are wet. For a heartbeat, I just stare, caught between disbelief and laughter bubbling in my chest. “Kaiden?” I whisper. My voice sounds wrong—too calm, too small.
He stirs, half-asleep. “Mm?”
“My water just broke.”
That wakes him.
He’s upright in an instant, eyes wide, hair sticking up. “You’re serious?”
Hunter’s already sitting up behind me, hand on my shoulder. “What? Now?”
I nod, breath catching on a shaky laugh. “Apparently, Bean didn’t want to wait for morning.”
There’s a beat of stunned silence—then chaos. Kaiden’s reaching for his phone, Hunter’s trying to help me stand, and I can’t stop laughing through the shock because it feels right somehow.
After everything—fire, blood, and survival—this is how our world begins again.