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The smell of breakfast hit me before I even opened my eyes.

Warm cinnamon. Crispy bacon. Maple syrup.

I blinked into the soft morning light filtering through the blinds and slowly sat up. Blankets were kicked everywhere—Mia had migrated to the floor in the night, and Jasmine was still snoring softly from the couch, a pillow over her face.

Lily was already up, of course, sitting crisscross on the living room rug with her stuffed animals arranged like an audience while she narrated an overly dramatic tea party.

I rubbed my eyes, stretched, and followed the smell into the kitchen.

Mom stood at the stove, flipping thick slices of golden-brown French toast with a little too much joy for how early it was. A mountain of scrambled eggs steamed in a bowl on the counter, and the bacon sizzled like applause in the skillet.

"You're just in time," she said, turning with a smile. "Grab some plates?"

"Is it legal to be this cheerful in the morning?" I mumbled, reaching into the cabinet.

She smirked. "I take my breakfast responsibilities very seriously."

Jasmine shuffled in behind me, yawning. "That smells amazing."

Mia stumbled in next, sniffed the air, and dramatically whispered, "I've ascended."

We all sat down around the table. Plates were passed, juice was poured, and the feast began.

Except... my plate looked a little different.

Because next to my eggs and French toast was a suspicious dollop of... strawberry jam.

And chocolate chips.

And a pickle spear.

Jasmine blinked. "Please tell me that's not on purpose."

"I needed something sweet and something crunchy," I said, completely serious. "And this seemed right."

Mia watched as I dipped a bite of French toast into jam and then took a bite of pickle.

"I—I'm actually impressed," she said. "You might be a genius. Or a danger to society."

Lily stared. "You're weird."

I grinned. "Takes one to know one."

Mom just laughed softly and slid into her seat with her own plate. "At least there's no ketchup this time."

"Don't jinx it," Jasmine said.

We all dug in—me with my strange breakfast concoction, everyone else with normal people food.

And somehow, it was perfect.

Warm sunlight poured across the table. The house was filled with laughter, clinking forks, and sleepy smiles.

We didn't know when the court would call, or what the next step would be.

But for now?

We had French toast.

And that was enough.

The sun was already high by the time breakfast ended and the dishes were rinsed. Mia and Jasmine had rallied Lily and Sam for another round of whatever chaotic game they'd invented on the spot—something that involved a soccer ball, sidewalk chalk, and a suspicious number of plastic spoons.

I watched them from the porch swing, my feet tucked up beside me, my cheek resting against the cushion. I was just... tired. Not in a dramatic way. Just the kind of tired that settles deep in your bones when your body is busy doing something big and your brain hasn't had a break in days.

The screen door creaked behind me.

Mom stepped out with her coffee in one hand and a second mug in the other. She didn't say anything at first—just handed me the warm cup of decaf and sat down beside me with a soft sigh, the swing shifting gently under her weight.

I wrapped my hands around the mug, letting the heat settle into my fingers.

"Long morning?" she asked gently.

I nodded. "I think it's catching up with me. All of it."

She took a sip of her coffee, watching the kids dart across the yard. "You've been strong through a lot of heavy stuff, Em. It's okay to feel tired."

"I feel like I should be doing something," I said. "I don't know... moving or planning or making lists or just doing something."

Mom looked over at me. "Sometimes sitting still is doing something. It's letting your heart and your body catch up to each other."

I leaned my head back and stared at the clouds drifting slowly above the trees.

"I wish everything felt normal again."

Mom was quiet for a moment. "Me too," she finally said. "But you know what? Sitting here with you? This feels a little like normal. Just for a second."

I smiled faintly, sipping the warm drink.

The laughter from the yard drifted toward us, carried by the breeze. Lily let out a dramatic "Aww man!" while Jasmine shouted, "Victory is mine!" followed by the unmistakable thud of a soccer ball hitting the fence.

I closed my eyes for a second and just listened.

I took another sip of my drink and glanced sideways at Mom. Even though she'd only been my mom for a few months, she was already sitting beside me like she'd been there forever.

She watched the kids in the yard, her coffee cradled in her hands, her eyes full of something I still wasn't used to—steady, unconditional love.

"Can I ask you something?" I said, barely above a whisper.

She turned to me right away. "Always."

I hesitated. "Were you scared? When you decided to adopt me?"

She smiled softly. "Terrified."

That surprised me. "Really?"

She gave a small nod. "I didn't know if I'd be enough for you. You'd already been through so much. I just wanted to be someone you could count on. I wanted to do right by you."

"You have," I said, meaning it.

Her eyes shimmered a little, but she just reached over and squeezed my hand. "And you've been doing more than okay, too."

I looked down at my stomach, pressing my palm gently against it. "Do you think... I could be a good mom?"

She was quiet for a beat, then leaned closer. "I think you already are. I see it in how you talk about the baby. How you protect it. How you worry, and wonder, and hope." She paused. "And maybe that's the biggest part of being a mom—choosing to love, even when things are scary. I chose you. And now you're choosing this baby."

I swallowed hard, blinking fast.

"I didn't plan any of this," I whispered. "But I don't want the baby to ever feel like they were a mistake."

"They won't," she said firmly. "Because you're not raising them alone. You have me. You have all of us."

I leaned my head on her shoulder, feeling the warmth of her coffee cup against my arm and the breeze from the yard brushing my skin.

"I'm still scared," I murmured.

"That just means your heart is in the right place," she said.

Out on the lawn, Lily was yelling something about goal lines while Jasmine and Sam argued over whether a soccer ball had actually made it past the sticks they were using as "official" posts.

Mom gave my hand another squeeze.

"And hey," she added, "for what it's worth? You've only been my daughter for a little while... but it already feels like a lifetime. A good one."

I smiled into her shoulder.

For a moment, the fear melted into something warmer. Something softer.

Hope.

As the breeze stirred the wind chimes hanging from the porch, I found myself tracing slow circles on the side of my mug, lost in thought.

Mom glanced over at me. "Penny for your thoughts?"

I hesitated, then said, "When will I know... what the baby is? I mean, their gender?"

Mom leaned back slightly. "Usually they can tell around eighteen to twenty weeks, during the anatomy scan. Sometimes earlier if the baby's cooperative." She smiled. "But don't get your hopes up—some babies like to be mysterious."

I let out a small laugh, resting my hand lightly on my stomach. "I don't even know what I'm hoping for. A girl. A boy. Neither? Both?"

Mom nodded slowly, sensing something in my voice. "You don't have to have it all figured out yet."

"I know," I said. "I just... I've been thinking. Whatever gender they are, I want to raise them gender-neutral for a while. Let them figure it out when they're ready. Not just slap a label on them because the ultrasound says so."

Mom smiled gently. "That sounds like something someone brave would say."

I shrugged. "I just don't want them to feel boxed in. I know what that feels like. I want them to wear what they like, play how they want, be whoever they are without anyone telling them it's wrong."

She gave my hand a squeeze. "Then they're going to grow up feeling safe, because they'll know their mom accepts them—completely."

"I hope so," I whispered. "I really, really hope so."

Out in the yard, Lily shouted something about needing a goalie, and Sam answered by pelting the ball into the bushes.

I leaned my head against Mom again and closed my eyes for a moment.

"I don't care if it's a boy or girl," I said softly. "I just want them to feel... free."

The air had turned still.

Even the kids' voices in the yard seemed quieter now, like the world had paused just a little. I didn't know if it was the warm breeze or the heaviness in my chest, but I felt it—something shifting.

Then the phone rang.

Mom and I both looked toward the screen door at the same time.

She stood without a word, her coffee forgotten, and stepped inside. I stayed on the porch swing for a second, frozen. But I couldn't just sit there.

I followed, slowly, and stopped just inside the door, watching her silhouette in the kitchen as she answered the call.

"Hello?" she said, her voice calm but cautious. "Yes, this is Evelyn Blake."

There was a pause.

I moved a little closer, still in the shadow of the hallway, clutching the edge of the doorframe.

"Yes... she's here," Mom said softly. Her back was to me, but I could hear the shift in her voice. The quiet seriousness. "We've been expecting your call."

My heart thudded once, hard. My hands were cold, even though it was warm outside.

I heard her ask, "Are the results in?"

Another pause.

A longer one this time.

And then: "Understood. And... yes, I'll let her know. Thank you."

She hung up slowly and just stood there for a moment, one hand still resting on the receiver.

I didn't realize I'd stepped forward until the floor creaked beneath me.

Mom turned.

Our eyes met.

"It's back?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

She nodded once.

Everything in me tensed.

"What did it say?"

Mom walked toward me carefully, her voice steady but soft.

"The test confirms what we already knew," she said. "It's him."

Trevor.

The air in the room felt too thin.

I pressed a hand to my stomach without thinking. It wasn't a surprise. Not really. But hearing it spoken out loud...

It made it real.

"I'm sorry," Mom said gently, reaching for my hand. "I wish the circumstances had been different. But now we have what we need. For the court. For closure. For whatever comes next."

I nodded slowly, my throat tight.

I wanted to cry.

I wanted to scream.

But instead, I just held her hand and whispered, "Okay."

And somehow, that was enough—for now.

We hadn't even moved from our spots in the kitchen when the phone rang again.

Mom and I both flinched, the sound slicing through the quiet like a blade.

She gave me a quick, steadying glance before turning back and picking it up off the counter again. "Hello? This is Evelyn Blake."

I stood frozen, one hand still resting against the table, my other hand on my stomach.

She nodded slowly as she listened, her face shifting from surprise to focus.

"Yes... we just received confirmation about the paternity results... I see," she said. Then a pause. "That soon?"

I stepped closer, my heart pounding all over again. That soon?

She listened a bit longer, her lips pressing into a thin line. "Understood. Yes. We'll be there."

She hung up and turned to face me.

"That was the court," she said softly. "The judge was informed immediately after the paternity results came in. They've decided not to delay."

I blinked. "Wait. What does that mean?"

"It means the next court date is already scheduled," she said. "They want to resume the trial in one week."

a week?

Everything inside me felt like it dropped an inch.

"They're moving that fast?" I whispered.

"I think they want to get ahead of it while emotions and facts are still fresh," Mom said. "It also means the prosecution is ready to push forward now that the DNA evidence is confirmed."

I swallowed hard.

The results weren't even cold and the courts were already spinning back to life. Everything was happening fast—faster than I thought I was ready for.

But then I looked at her—at the calm in Mom's eyes, the solid strength behind them.

And I nodded.

"Okay," I said again. "Next week?"