turned the monitor slightly.
“There’s Baby A.”
She moved the cursor.
“And Baby B.”
Adam squeezed my hand.
My heart started racing.
“Twins?” I whispered.
The technician laughed softly.
“And Baby C.”
I stared at her.
“Excuse me?”
“Triplets.”
I honestly thought I had misheard her.
Three babies.
Three cribs.
Three car seats.
Three college funds.
Three everything.
I looked at Adam.
His face had gone pale.
Then he turned toward me, squeezed my hand harder, and smiled.
“We can do this.”
“Three babies, Adam.”
“I know.”
“How?”
“We’ll figure it out.”
He leaned over and kissed my forehead.
“I’ve got you, Allison.”
I wanted to believe him.
So I did.
For the next several months, we planned our lives around three tiny people we had never met.
We converted our second bedroom into a nursery.
Adam assembled three cribs while complaining that every instruction manual had clearly been written
