chapter(2/2)
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The hospital room was quiet in a way that felt reverent. Not silent—there were murmurs from the hallway, the gentle beep of machines, the shuffle of a nurse's shoes outside the door—but inside, between Leon and Aria, there was only stillness. Anticipation.
The sonographer, a kind-eyed woman with a lilting accent, applied the gel to Aria's slightly rounded belly, then offered her a reassuring smile. "Ready?"
Aria nodded, biting down the nervous flutter in her chest. Leon stood beside her, one hand holding hers, the other resting lightly on her shoulder. He hadn't let go of her once since they arrived.
The monitor crackled, a soft static hum as the wand moved across her skin. A few seconds of searching—and then, like a miracle, there it was.
Thump.Thump.Thump.
The first heartbeat. Strong. Rhythmic. Alive.
Aria's breath hitched. Leon squeezed her hand.
"There's one," the technician said warmly. "Still holding steady…"
She shifted the wand slightly. Another heartbeat flared to life, this one slightly faster, lighter in tone.
"And there's the second. Also looking perfect."
Leon's lips parted, eyes fixed on the screen. He didn't blink. "And the third?"
The technician smiled. "Here we go…"
The room held its breath. Then—
The third beat. Fast, sure, and insistent. Like a drum in the distance, finding its rhythm.
All three heartbeats filled the space like a quiet symphony—each one unique, yet somehow perfectly in sync. A private orchestra only they could hear.
Aria's eyes welled. "They sound like a song."
Leon swallowed hard. "They sound like everything."
The technician printed the scan, labeling each of the babies with a gentle touch and expert clarity. "Triplets are rare, but everything looks good for now. You're both doing everything right. Keep listening to your instincts, and rest when your body asks."
Aria nodded. She couldn't speak—not yet. Her throat was thick with emotion. She pressed her fingers over her lips, blinking back tears, and reached blindly for Leon's hand again.
He laced his fingers through hers. "We're going to keep them safe," he murmured. "You and me."
As they walked out of the hospital an hour later, Aria tucked the folded scan printout into her coat pocket like a holy relic. She glanced at Leon, who was unusually quiet beside her, his hand warm around her back.
"Are you okay?" she asked softly.
He looked at her—truly looked—and then nodded. "I'm in awe."
She leaned her head on his shoulder. "I thought I'd be terrified."
"Are you?"
She paused. Then: "A little. But mostly I'm... excited. We're growing something together. Three someones."
Leon stopped her just outside the car, cupping her face with gentle hands. "You're doing something beautiful, Aria Rousseau."
"We are."
He leaned down, kissed her forehead, then her lips, tender and slow.
Later that night, he framed the sonogram printout and placed it above the nursery dresser.
Aria watched him from the doorway, arms wrapped around her middle.
"I never thought a sound could undo me like that," she said.
Leon glanced at her, then returned to smoothing the edges of the frame. "I didn't know I could love three heartbeats I haven't even met yet."
She smiled. "You're going to tell them that, right?"
"Every day. Until they roll their eyes at me."
She laughed—and in that sound, in that warmth, the room felt more alive than ever.