The morning after Christmas felt different.
Quieter.
Not peaceful—just… emptier.
The excitement of the day before had faded, leaving behind the soft weight of reality settling back in.
Lillian lay in her childhood bed for a few extra minutes, staring at the ceiling.
Her hand rested lightly over her stomach.
Still strange.
Still unbelievable.
But real.
She exhaled slowly.
"I'm actually doing this…" she whispered to herself.
A life growing inside her.
A future she hadn't planned for.
A future that didn't include Sebastian in the way she once imagined.
That thought still hurt more than she wanted to admit.
Downstairs, Caroline was already awake.
Of course she was.
Lillian could hear the faint clatter of cupboards and the soft hum of a kettle boiling.
When she reached the kitchen, Thomas was standing by the counter holding a mug while Caroline was already making a list.
A very long list.
Lillian squinted at it.
"What is that?"
Caroline didn't look up.
"Things we'll need to start considering."
Thomas glanced over her shoulder.
"It's a bit early, isn't it?"
Caroline immediately shot him a look.
"Is it?"
Thomas cleared his throat.
"…No."
Lillian sighed, sitting down at the table.
"I'm not even showing yet."
Caroline finally turned around.
"You're pregnant."
"I know."
"And you need vitamins."
"I know that too."
"And comfortable clothes."
Lillian groaned softly.
"Mom…"
Caroline softened slightly.
"Just… let me take care of you, alright?"
That made Lillian pause.
Then she nodded.
"…Okay."
Later that morning, Caroline insisted they go out.
Fresh air, she said.
Distraction, she said.
Reality, Lillian thought.
They ended up walking through a busy shopping district in New York, the streets still decorated from Christmas.
Lights still hung across buildings.
Window displays still glittered.
Life continued like nothing had changed.
But everything had.
Lillian walked slightly behind Caroline, hands tucked into her coat pockets.
Every so often, her thoughts drifted.
Not to Christmas.
Not to shopping.
But to Sebastian.
She wondered where he was right now.
If he had eaten.
If he was still drinking too much.
If he was alone.
She frowned slightly at the thought and forced herself to look ahead again.
Caroline noticed immediately.
"You're thinking about him again."
Lillian didn't deny it.
"…Yeah."
Caroline didn't sound surprised.
"That's going to happen for a while."
Lillian let out a small breath.
"I know."
But knowing didn't make it easier.
They stopped at a small baby store later that afternoon.
Lillian hesitated outside for a moment.
A sign in the window showed a smiling mother holding a newborn.
Her chest tightened slightly.
"I don't think I need anything yet," she said quietly.
Caroline raised a brow.
"You're not here because you need things."
Lillian frowned.
"Then why are we here?"
Caroline simply smiled.
"Because it makes it real."
That made Lillian go quiet.
After a moment, she followed her mother inside.
The store was warm.
Soft music played in the background.
Shelves were filled with tiny clothes, blankets, and toys that looked impossibly small.
Lillian walked slowly, overwhelmed by how delicate everything seemed.
So small.
So fragile.
Caroline wandered ahead, clearly enjoying herself far too much.
Lillian lingered near a display of stuffed animals.
Small ones.
Soft ones.
Some shaped like bears, others like rabbits.
Her fingers hovered over one small plush toy.
A tiny white bunny with floppy ears.
She picked it up carefully.
It was soft.
Warm somehow, even just to hold.
"This is ridiculous," she muttered under her breath.
And yet she didn't put it down.
Caroline appeared beside her.
"That one's cute."
"I don't need it."
Caroline smiled knowingly.
"I didn't say you did."
Lillian looked at the bunny again.
It felt symbolic in a way she couldn't explain.
Small.
New.
Uncertain.
Just like everything in her life right now.
After a moment, she walked to the counter and bought it.
No hesitation this time.
When the bag was handed to her, she stared at it for a few seconds.
Then hugged it gently against her chest.
Not because she needed it.
But because it made everything feel slightly more real.
That evening, back at home, Thomas immediately noticed the bag.
"What's that?"
Lillian placed it on the couch beside her.
"…A stuffed animal."
Caroline looked far too pleased.
"I told you she'd buy something."
"It's just a rabbit," Lillian muttered.
Thomas smiled slightly.
"First grandchild already getting toys."
Lillian immediately looked up.
"Dad."
"What?"
"Don't say it like that."
Caroline laughed softly.
But Thomas's words lingered in the air afterward.
Grandchild.
The word felt strange.
Too big.
Too soon.
And yet not wrong.
Lillian's hand drifted to her stomach again.
She didn't say anything.
But she didn't stop the thought either.
Later that night, after Thomas and Caroline had gone to bed, Lillian sat alone in her old bedroom.
The stuffed rabbit rested beside her on the bed.
She picked it up again, studying it in the dim light.
"So small," she whispered.
Her thumb brushed over its soft fur.
A quiet ache settled in her chest.
Because for the first time, she realized this wasn't just about her anymore.
There was someone else now.
Someone she already cared about.
She placed a hand gently over her stomach.
"We'll figure it out," she said softly.
A pause.
Then, almost hesitantly:
"You're going to be okay."
Silence followed.
But it didn't feel empty.
Across New York, in the Wolfe mansion, Sebastian stood alone in his office.
The city lights reflected faintly against the window.
A glass sat untouched on his desk.
He hadn't noticed how often he looked toward his phone lately.
Or how often he stopped himself from picking it up.
Lillian's absence still felt strange.
Unresolved.
He told himself it didn't matter anymore.
But the feeling didn't go away.
Eventually, he leaned back in his chair, eyes closing briefly.
And somewhere in the quiet of the mansion, he thought—just for a second—that something important was slipping further out of reach.
Something he didn't know how to name yet.
Something he still wasn't ready to lose.
And somewhere across the city, Lillian held a small stuffed rabbit a little too tightly… as if it meant more than she was ready to admit.