Elena's POV
Zayden had gone full dad mode.
Scratch that—overprotective, nesting, ultra-planning, spreadsheet-making SuperDad™ mode.
Ever since the ultrasound confirmed we were having twins—a boy and a girl—he hadn't taken a full breath of peace.
I wasn't even allowed to carry a throw pillow anymore.
"Elena," Zayden called from the hallway, voice already tight with worry, "why aren't you on the bed?"
"I was just picking up my book."
"I told you I'd get it. Sit. Feet up. Immediately." He appeared at the doorway, holding a warm blanket, a fresh smoothie, and a new lumbar pillow. "We're not risking anything."
I rolled my eyes. "Zay, I'm not a patient. I'm pregnant."
"With twins. And a doctor told you to rest." He gently placed the pillow behind me, adjusted the blanket like I was a fragile statue, and kissed my forehead. "And those are my babies in there. I take my job seriously."
---
Later that afternoon, he dragged me (read: carefully escorted me) to the nursery wing—yes, wing, because apparently, one nursery wasn't enough.
"This was supposed to be my art room," I said, staring at the now-color-coded space filled with pastel blues and soft pinks, cribs side by side, alphabet blocks with gold lettering, and plush toys already labeled "his" and "hers."
Zayden beamed. "Now it's their kingdom. And we—" he pulled me into his arms, "—are the loyal subjects."
I laughed into his chest. "You are absolutely ridiculous."
"And you love it."
I couldn't even deny it.
---
That night, I lay in bed, our bedroom now lit with soft fairy lights because overhead lights are harsh on pregnancy hormones, according to Dr. Dad Wolfe.
"Zay?" I murmured, nudging his arm.
"Yeah?"
"They're kicking again."
He instantly turned to me, hand already moving to my belly. His palm pressed gently, eyes glowing like the first time he heard their heartbeats.
"They always kick when you're around," I whispered. "I think they know."
He smiled, voice barely above a whisper. "Of course they do. They're geniuses. It runs in the family."
Then he paused, eyes distant for a moment.
"What?" I asked.
"I've been thinking," he murmured, stroking circles over my belly, "what if she likes pink more than blue? Should I switch the crib ribbons?"
I raised a brow. "Seriously?"
"And what if he doesn't like trucks? What if he wants dinosaurs? Or books? I haven't even ordered those decals yet—"
I cut him off with a laugh, pulling him down into a kiss. "You're doing amazing, Zay."
He sighed softly against my lips. "I just want everything perfect for them. For you. I want her to have her own art corner. And him—his own piano if he wants. Or a space rocket."
"I think they'll love whatever you do. Because it's filled with love."
His eyes glistened as he looked down at me. "Elena…"
"Hmm?"
He cupped my face. "Thank you. For giving me them. For giving me this."
We stayed like that—our hands on our babies, hearts pressed close, and a whole world of chaos and love ahead of us.
And just before I drifted off, I heard him whisper to my belly, "I'm going to take care of you both. I'll build the whole world if I have to."