Life had a way of changing its pace without warning.
One moment, the days drifted like the soft rhythm of swings in the park, the next, Leon was gone before breakfast and returning long after the triplets were already asleep. A foreign delegation had arrived, meetings stacked one after another, his time consumed by negotiations, late dinners, and endless phone calls.
For Aria, it meant the house felt different. Too quiet in the mornings without his low voice filling the kitchen, too long in the afternoons when the clock seemed to drag between naps and feedings.
The triplets, however, had no interest in schedules being disrupted. They still woke at dawn, demanding breakfast in a chorus of cries. They still spilled juice on the floor, squirmed away during diaper changes, and found inventive ways to make her chase them around the living room.
By the second day, Aria had fallen into her own rhythm. She strapped Elias to her chest in a sling while she fed the girls at the high chairs. She made a game of folding laundry, letting the twins tug at socks and giggle as she tried to match pairs. She even managed to sneak a few photos—Lila with spaghetti smeared across her cheeks, Amara proudly holding up a crayon scribble that was more on the wall than on the paper, Elias solemnly pressing his bunny to the window as if waiting for Leon to walk through the glass.
Evenings were the hardest. She would tuck them into their cribs, soft lullabies playing, and sit down on the couch with a mug of tea. The silence pressed heavy then, Leon's absence too obvious in the space beside her. Sometimes she'd glance at her phone, tempted to call, but she never did—he would be working, and she didn't want to add to the weight on his shoulders.
On the fourth night, after a particularly long day of fussing and spilled bottles, Aria sat on the nursery floor between the three cribs, hair falling loose from its bun. Lila refused to lie down, Amara kept throwing her blanket over the edge, and Elias was awake but calm, simply watching her with those steady eyes.
"You're all too clever for your own good," she whispered, half-laughing, half-exhausted. "Especially you two," she added, pointing gently at the girls. "Always scheming, just like your papa says."
Elias gave a soft grunt as if in agreement, hugging his bunny tighter. Aria laughed tiredly, leaning back against the wall. "At least I have one ally."
By the end of the week, she had managed it—though not without collapsing into bed each night more tired than she'd ever been. The triplets had survived, the house hadn't burned down, and somehow, in between the chaos, she felt herself growing steadier, more confident.
When Leon finally walked through the door that Friday evening, his suit jacket slung over his arm and shadows under his eyes, the first thing he saw was Aria sprawled on the couch, fast asleep with all three babies piled on top of her. Amara's tiny hand was tangled in her mother's hair, Lila was snoring softly against her chest, and Elias sat propped against her side, still awake, staring at his father with a quiet, unblinking gaze.
Leon's expression softened in a way few ever saw. He set his briefcase down silently, moved closer, and brushed a kiss against Aria's forehead without waking her.
For the first time all week, the house felt whole again.