The flat was still when Isabelle woke — soft winter light spilling through the curtains, the faint hum of the city beginning to stir.
Her head throbbed dully, her stomach uneasy, but for a while she stayed cocooned in warmth. From the kitchen came the gentle clatter of crockery and Robert's low voice — calm, amused.
He was talking to her mother.
Of course he was.
With a sigh, she pushed back the covers and sat up slowly. The air was cold against her skin. For a moment the room tilted — not sharply, just enough to make her steady herself on the edge of the bed.
"Wonderful," she muttered.
She dressed quickly — leggings, an old jumper — and padded barefoot into the kitchen.
Robert stood at the stove in a t-shirt and joggers, flipping pancakes with an ease that made her smile despite herself. Helene sat at the table, perfectly composed, a cup of tea in hand.
"Morning," Isabelle said softly, leaning against the doorframe.
Robert turned immediately. "Hey. How are you feeling?"
She shrugged, managing a small smile. "Fine. Just tired."
He gave her a look that said he didn't believe her for a second. "You barely ate yesterday."
"I was busy," she said. "And nervous. You know what Eleanor's parties are like."
Helene raised an eyebrow. "You always make it look effortless — according to the paper."
Isabelle blinked. "The paper?"
Helene slid her phone across the table. On the screen was a society column: and a photo; the Landmark's ballroom aglow, Isabelle caught mid-conversation in her burgundy gown. The caption read, 'Hale & Partners' dazzling annual soirée, impeccably executed by Isabelle Cole.'
Robert smiled. "See? Even the press noticed."
She rolled her eyes, though her cheeks flushed with quiet pride. "They noticed because Eleanor makes sure they do."
Her mother's smile was soft. "Maybe. Or maybe because you've finally started to shine without asking permission."
"I don't see Eleanor's name in the headline." Robert said with a knowing smile. He handed her a cup of tea, his touch light. "Drink this. Then eat something."
"I'm not hungry," she said automatically.
"Humour me."
So she sat, hands wrapped around the warm mug, breathing in the steam.
For a few minutes, the world felt still — just the three of them, the smell of pancakes, the sound of children's laughter from the next room as Luke and Becca argued over the TV remote.
It was ordinary. And for Isabelle, that made it perfect.
Later, Robert took the children to the park to burn off energy. Clive still hadn't been in touch. He hadn't replied when she'd asked if he wanted to spend Christmas Eve with them, as he usually did. She felt a pang of guilt for her children — and a quiet hope that, in time, things might mend.
Helene found her in the kitchen again, gazing out at the frosted rooftops.
"You should rest," she said gently.
"I'm fine," Isabelle replied, not turning from the window.
"That's what you always say."
She smiled faintly. "You make it sound like a crime."
Helene stepped closer, studying her daughter's pale reflection in the glass. "It's not. But you look exhausted. And this isn't just overwork, Isabelle."
She turned, defensive. "Mum —"
"I know that look," she interrupted softly. "The way you touch your face. The way food turns your stomach. I've seen it before."
Isabelle blinked. "What are you talking about?"
Her mother gave her a small, knowing smile. "You know what I'm talking about."
For a long moment, Isabelle just stared — then shook her head, half laughing, half terrified. "No. No, that's… it can't be."
Helene's expression didn't waver. "Have you been careful?"
"Of course. I'm on the pill."
Her voice faltered. Her mother's gaze softened.
"Oh, sweetheart," she said, touching her arm gently. "It's not the end of the world."
Isabelle sank into a chair, her pulse quickening. "It's just… too soon. We've only been engaged a few months. The business is just starting. The children —"
"The children will be fine," Helene said calmly. "And Robert loves you. You know that."
"I do," Isabelle whispered. "I just… I don't think we're ready for another change. Everything finally felt balanced."
Her mother smiled faintly. "Life doesn't wait for balance, darling. It gives you what you need, not always what you want."
Robert returned an hour later, cheeks pink from the cold, Luke on his shoulders and Becca tugging his hand.
"Mum!" Becca shouted as she ran into the kitchen. "Daddy built us a snowman!"
Isabelle's breath caught. Daddy. The word came so naturally that Robert froze, startled — then smiled, his voice gentle.
"Technically it was a snow blob," he said. "Luke kept attacking it."
Luke grinned. "It was a battle snowman!"
Isabelle laughed, her eyes bright. Her heart swelled with something fierce and fragile.
Robert met her gaze over the children's heads — a silent question, a soft smile. She only shrugged, still smiling. He couldn't stop smiling either.
After the children were in bed and Helene had retired for the night, Robert found Isabelle curled on the sofa beneath a blanket.
He sat beside her, quiet for a moment. "Isabelle," he said softly. "What's going on?"
She looked up, startled. "What do you mean?"
"You've been off all day. You barely ate, you look pale, and you've been avoiding me."
She hesitated, twisting the blanket between her fingers.
He reached for her hand — gentle, but firm. "Isabelle."
She exhaled slowly. "Mum thinks I might be pregnant."
The words hung in the air like snow — soft, suspended, inevitable.
Robert froze. For a moment, he didn't breathe. Then he exhaled, slow and steady, eyes searching hers.
"Do you think you might be?"
"I don't know," she whispered. "I'm on the pill — we weren't planning —"
He squeezed her hand. "Hey. It's all right."
She looked up, uncertain. "Is it?"
He smiled — quiet, steady, the way he always did when the world tilted. "If you are, then it's the best kind of surprise."
Her throat tightened. "Robert, I don't want this to throw everything off balance. The business, the wedding —"
"Stop," he said gently. "Listen to me."
He shifted closer, cupping her face in his hands. "Nothing about this changes what we're building. Not the business. Not the wedding. Not us. If you're pregnant, great. If not, fine. Either way — I told you, I'll look after you. All of you."
Tears burned behind her eyes. "You don't even know for sure yet."
He smiled faintly. "Then let's find out. And whatever it says — we'll face it together. You're not alone."
Her breath trembled out. She leaned into him, resting her forehead against his chest. His arms came around her, solid, steady. For a moment, the world was still again.
Robert went to the pharmacy and came back with a small paper bag. A few minutes later, Isabelle sat on the edge of the bathtub, staring at the white sticks in her hands.
The house was silent. Robert waited outside the door, pacing softly.
When two faint pink lines appeared, her heart clenched.
She stared at them, then at her reflection. Then she opened the door.
Robert looked up instantly — and read the answer in her eyes.
"Well," she whispered, a shaky smile tugging at her lips, "seems your snowman-building skills weren't the only surprise this winter."
For a heartbeat, he said nothing. Then he crossed the room, gathering her into his arms.
"Are you happy?" she asked against his shoulder, her voice trembling.
He held her closer. "I didn't think I could be happier than I already was," he said quietly. "Turns out I was wrong. Looks like I'm a dad of three now."
Her laugh caught on a sob. He kissed her hair, whispering, "We'll be fine, Isabelle. We'll build this life the same way we build everything else — one steady step at a time."
She nodded, tears slipping down her cheeks, fingers clutching his shirt.
Outside, snow began to fall again — soft, slow, the world holding its breath.
And in that quiet, with his arms around her and the weight of something miraculous between them, Isabelle let herself believe; she wasn't standing alone anymore.