Ric was zipping up his duffel bag by the front door, the away kit already peeking out from under the flap. The morning felt too early, too quiet.
"Three nights," he said, glancing at Elenora. "And I'll text every five minutes."
"You'll forget the second the whistle blows."
"I'll text during halftime, then."
She raised a brow.
He stepped forward, one hand sliding over her bump, the other wrapping around her waist. "I'll be back before you know it. No lifting anything. No painting. No doing 'just a little bit' of something."
"No fun, basically."
He kissed her softly. "Exactly."
⸻
A few hours later — knock at the door.
Alessia stood there in leggings, a hoodie too big for her, and an overnight bag slung over one shoulder.
"You're not the only one whose man abandoned her," she grinned.
"Declan too?"
"Gone. Group stage in Portugal."
"And your plan is?"
"Couch. Tea. And some very opinionated DIY."
Elenora laughed and stepped aside. "Welcome to your sanctuary."
⸻
SATURDAY MORNING — THE NEW HOUSE
The walls were still blank in the kids' rooms. Paint swatches taped everywhere, old IKEA furniture leaning against corners, stuffed animals peeking from half-unpacked boxes.
"Let's do it," Alessia declared. "Kid-room blitz."
Elenora tilted her head. "You mean: let's sit on the floor and tell the others what to do?"
Exactly ten minutes later, the doorbell rang.
And in stepped Katie McCabe, Leah Williamson, Caitlin Foord, and Lotte Wubben-Moy, arms full of bags, snacks, paintbrushes, and chaos.
"This feels suspiciously like team bonding," Katie smirked, flopping onto the rug.
"You all volunteered," Alessia said. "I have receipts."
Leah looked at the plain white walls of Lucia's room. "Pink?"
"Pink everything," Elenora groaned.
"Say less."
The room turned into a storm of laughter, music, and disorganized excellence.
Lotte helped Lucia paint her name on the wall in soft gold script. Caitlin assembled Eli's race car bed with IKEA instructions in one hand and crisps in the other. Leah oversaw fairy light installation like it was a tactical backline. And Katie...
Katie drew a dinosaur mural on one wall with terrifying skill.
By mid-afternoon, Lucia had glitter in her hair, Eli's room looked like a race track, and Elenora sat on a beanbag watching it all, her hand on her bump, the house finally feeling like home.
Alessia flopped beside her, both hands under her belly.
"This was good," she said softly. "I needed this."
"Me too," Elenora replied.
Leah passed by, holding two juice boxes. "I love that the pregnant ones are on their thrones while we peasants work."
"Grow a uterus and we'll let you sit," Alessia called back.
⸻
Later that evening — nursery.
The house was quiet now. Everyone gone. Kids asleep. Lights dimmed.
Elenora and Alessia stood in the twins' room, each cradling their bumps, watching the mobile spin slowly above the crib.
"You're going to be amazing," Alessia whispered.
"You already are."
They didn't need to say anything more.
Because this weekend?
They built more than rooms.
They built the life their girls were coming into.
11:42PM — Saturday Night
The house was quiet. The kids were fast asleep, Alessia snoring softly from the guest room, a half-eaten brownie tray on the bench.
Elenora was curled in Ric's hoodie — the one he'd left behind "by accident"— phone glowing in the dim light of the nursery. She scrolled past a blurry photo of his team dinner and smirked at the close-up selfie he'd just sent.
Ric:
You miss me?
Elenora:
Always. But your side of the bed doesn't talk in its sleep, so that's a win.
Ric:
Harsh.
I dream about you and our babies. That's not sleep talking. That's devotion.
Elenora:
Last night you said "we forgot the sauce" and then elbowed me in the ribs.
Ric:
Romantic sauce?
Elenora:
Spaghetti. You're 0 for 1.
Ric:
I'm 1 for 1 in missing you so much I can't sleep.
I keep replaying you in that little sundress. You remember the one?
Elenora:
The red one?
Riccardo Calafiori don't you dare finish that sentence.
Ric:
That's the one.
Wanna know what I'd do if I was home right now?
Elenora:
If it doesn't involve snacks or foot rubs, you're on thin ice.
Ric:
I'd start with snacks. Then carry you — bridal style — into bed.
Then trace every kick I could feel. Slowly. With my mouth.
Elenora flushed hot, biting her lip in the glow of her screen.
Elenora:
You're 1000km away. That's criminal.
Ric:
I'd make you forget it.
Elenora:
You're lucky I'm pregnant or I'd be at the airport right now.
Ric:
I'll be home in 16 hours.
And I expect that sundress to be somewhere close.
Elenora:
Just don't forget the sauce this time.
⸻
The Next Afternoon — Homecoming.
Lucia barrelled into Ric the second he stepped through the door.
"You're not allowed to go away again unless you're taking me too!"
Ric staggered back with a dramatic grunt, catching her mid-spin. "I missed you too, bug."
Elenora stood behind her, glowing. Not just from seeing him — but from knowing what he was about to walk into.
Lucia grabbed his hand immediately. "You have to see the transformation."
"Oh no," Ric laughed. "Full tour?"
"Full drama."
Lucia led him through the house with flair — starting with Eli's race car bed ("He crashed it three times yesterday, we had to repaint!"), then her own room ("Look! My name in gold!"), and finally—
The nursery.
Ric stopped in the doorway.
The pale, calming walls. The two cribs, spaced beside one another. The changing table, the mobile, the folded onesies. The tiny bookshelf with two names written on the spine labels:
Isla Grace. Isabella Sofia.
His voice was soft. "You did all this?"
"With help," Elenora smiled, stepping beside him.
He turned to her, wrapping an arm around her waist and pressing a kiss to her forehead.
"You made it real."
"You made it possible."
Lucia grinned. "You're both gross."
Ric pulled her into a hug and ruffled her hair.
"I'm just happy to be home."
28 Weeks.
The scan room was quieter than usual. Maybe because by now, Elenora and Ric knew the drill. The silence between the beeping and the words. The stillness of breath held when the probe moved from one twin to the other.
But today, it felt more final.
Not in a bad way.
Just... decided.
Dr. Anand reviewed the results in her usual composed calm. She pointed to the readings on the screen: Isabella — still thriving. Isla — smaller than ever, but her cord flow had held, her heart still fluttered on bravely.
"She's stable, but we've plateaued," Dr. Anand said gently. "She's working too hard now. And we don't want to wait for her to fall."
Elenora nodded slowly. "How much longer?"
Dr. Anand met her eyes. "We'd like to schedule the C-section for 30 weeks. That gives us time for steroids, prepping the NICU, and one more growth scan. She'll be very premature, but... it's her best chance."
Ric's hand tightened around hers.
"Okay," Elenora whispered. "Thirty."
And just like that, the countdown began.
⸻
Back at home — later that night
Elenora stood in the twins' nursery, folding a final stack of baby wraps with robotic precision. Ric watched her from the doorway.
"Love... you don't have to do everything tonight."
"I know," she said, not looking up. "But I want the house ready. Before they come."
"You sure you'll feel like moving into the new place in the next two weeks?"
"I'll make myself feel like it," she said, lifting a box of nappies into the changing drawer. "I want Isla and Bella to come home to their house. Not boxes and chaos."
Ric crossed the room and pulled her into him, forehead resting against hers.
"Then we do it. I'll handle the furniture. You handle the snacks."
She smirked. "You think I haven't already pre-frozen a month's worth of dinners?"
⸻
A few days later — Eli's final game
It was a warm afternoon, the kind that smelled like fresh grass and oranges at halftime.
Elenora sat on a fold-out chair with a water bottle balanced on her belly. Lucia was on the grass beside her, braiding a friendship bracelet for her brother. Ric was pacing the sideline like a manager, arms crossed, yelling encouragement and occasionally groaning dramatically.
"This is his last one before we become a family of six," Elenora said quietly to Alessia, who sat beside her, bump-to-bump in solidarity.
"He's going to be the best big brother," Alessia smiled. "He already is."
When the final whistle blew, Eli ran straight over, breathless and beaming.
"Did you see my goal?!"
"I heard it from across the pitch," Ric grinned. "I nearly fell over cheering."
Elenora leaned forward to hug her son. "We're so proud of you."
He smiled into her shoulder. "Do you think the babies heard me score?"
Elenora's voice caught a little in her throat.
"They absolutely did."
⸻
That night — in the new house
Ric opened the freezer, blinked, and laughed.
"Did you freeze the entire pantry?"
"Lasagna, curry, soup, muffins, and ten different smoothies," Elenora said, propping up a pillow behind her back. "You'll thank me at 3am when we've had zero sleep and need food that isn't toast."
Ric walked over and kissed her forehead. "I thank you now."
And as he lowered himself beside her, his hand sliding gently over the curve of her belly — two heartbeats still beating beneath — Elenora exhaled.
There was fear. Still.
But there was also readiness.
For whatever came next.
Chat name: THE LADZ (w/ some actual dads + Meatball & The Womb Zone)
Participants: Ric, Declan, Ben White, Ramsdale, Rob Holding, Jakub Kiwior, Matt Turner, Katie McCabe (still refuses to leave), Leah Williamson (silently judging), and one unknown participant still listed as "Meatball."
⸻
Ric:
Right.
Need manpower.
Big move today.
Couches, cabinets, one stupidly heavy TV and some questionable antique wardrobe Elenora bought from a woman named Carol on Facebook Marketplace.
Payment:
Slab of any drink you want + lasagna + bragging rights.
⸻
Declan:
How heavy's the couch?
⸻
Ben White:
Do you want it moved or safely moved?
⸻
Ramsdale:
I threw my back out getting a pizza from the oven last night but I'm in.
⸻
Jakub:
Is this the house with five bedrooms and the spiral stairs?
I regret everything already.
⸻
Katie McCabe:
Wait... we're not building cots?
We're moving actual stuff?
Why am I here?
⸻
Matt Turner:
TVs? I dropped a flat screen off a balcony once. I will not elaborate.
⸻
Rob Holding:
Do I need gloves? Or a will?
⸻
Ric:
I need you to move a marble kitchen island that might be sentient.
There will be yelling. There will be injuries.
There will be beer.
⸻
Declan:
I'm bringing protein powder and a dream.
⸻
Meatball:
Do we know who I am yet or am I still anonymous?
⸻
Ric (changing group name):
"THE LADZ: Back Pain Edition"
⸻
12:47PM – NEW HOUSE CHAOS
Ric stood at the bottom of the staircase, directing traffic like a man possessed.
"Careful with the sideboard! That thing's got more sentimental value than me!"
"TURN IT SIDEWAYS, DECLAN—"
"I AM TURNING IT SIDEWAYS!"
Katie had perched herself on a camping chair with a clipboard and a beer.
"Couch rotation is a 6/10. They'll never make the corner."
Ben was swearing in Polish. Or maybe Cockney. No one could tell.
Matt was wedged inside the stairwell under a box of books labeled "Elenora — not heavy (a lie)".
Ramsdale had somehow cracked a tile and a beer in under three minutes.
Ric, sweating through his shirt, wiped his forehead and yelled, "WHO THE HELL SAID MOVING WAS A GOOD IDEA?!"
Jakub walked past carrying a 70-inch TV like it was a yoga mat. "We did. You bribed us."
⸻
2:31PM – KITCHEN
Everyone collapsed into various furniture pieces they'd just moved.
Elenora stood at the bench, hand on her belly, utterly amused. "You look like you've all done pre-season in an oven."
Ric dropped into the armchair. "This is harder than Serie A."
Lucia peeked into the room, holding a cold compress. "Who wants the boo-boo pack?"
⸻
And when the last box was dragged inside and the beers finally opened...
Ric raised a toast.
"To mates who show up.
To backs that held out.
To couches that just barely fit."
Everyone groaned. Someone burped.
And even through the chaos, pain, and Katie's relentless heckling—
It was the perfect final move.
The house was unusually still.
Boxes were unpacked. Curtains hung. The kitchen smelled faintly of cinnamon and clean floors. The last load of laundry was drying near the hallway. Elenora sat on the nursery floor, legs folded carefully, twin hospital bags open in front of her.
Tiny hats.
Preemie-sized onesies.
A lavender swaddle for Isla. A soft rose-coloured wrap for Bella.
She folded, unfolded, refolded — then just held the fabric in her lap, eyes fixed on the curve of her bump.
Across the room, Ric was zipping up a second bag, labelled "Lucia & Eli" in Katie McCabe's messy Sharpie handwriting.
"They're going to be fine," he said quietly, coming to sit behind her, arms sliding gently around her belly from behind.
"I know," she said, voice soft. "I just... this is it. Tomorrow."
Ric rested his forehead against her shoulder. "And we meet them."
Elenora nodded.
"And the world changes."
⸻
Later — the kids' room
Eli was sitting cross-legged on his bed, clutching his stuffed lion. Lucia lay beside him, already dressed in her matching PJs with a glittery overnight bag by the door.
Elenora perched on the edge of the bed, her voice calm. "You're going to stay with Katie and Caitlin for a few nights. You'll get to eat waffles for dinner and probably build a furniture fort."
Lucia lit up. "Can I wear my princess dress?"
"Only if you promise not to swordfight Caitlin."
Eli looked quieter, eyes serious. "Will the babies be okay?"
Ric stepped in beside them. "They're going to do their best. And so will Mummy and I. That's all anyone can do."
Lucia reached over and pressed both hands gently on the bump. "Bella... Isla... I love you."
Elenora blinked quickly, pressing a kiss into Lucia's curls.
"I love you too, bug."
⸻
11:48PM — master bedroom
The bags were by the door. Ric's hoodie was wrapped around her like a cocoon. His hand rested against her stomach, fingers splayed wide across both girls.
"You alright?" he murmured.
She nodded, but her eyes were open, watching the ceiling.
"I just... don't want to forget this. Before."
Ric kissed her shoulder. "You won't. This is part of them, too."
"I'm scared."
"So am I."
He paused.
"But you've been brave since the moment this started. That's not stopping now."
They lay there in silence, his hand over their girls, her breath soft and steady, until the clock ticked past midnight.
⸻
6:42AM — hospital check-in morning
The car was quiet.
The kids were already with Katie and Caitlin — dropped off early with sleepy goodbyes and brave smiles.
Elenora had barely touched her toast.
The hospital bag sat between her knees.
Ric kept glancing over, one hand on the wheel, the other gripping hers every time they stopped at a light.
"Still okay?"
"No," she whispered. "But I'm going."
At the hospital doors, a nurse greeted them gently, clipboard in hand.
"You ready, Mum?"
Elenora swallowed hard. Then nodded.
"We've been ready since twenty weeks."
And as she stepped inside, Ric's hand in hers, heart thudding louder than her footsteps—
She whispered silently to her daughters:
"Come on, my girls. Let's go meet the world."
7:23AM — Pre-op, St. Mary's Hospital
The room smelled like antiseptic and cotton.
Elenora sat on the edge of the bed, hospital gown wrapped around her, feet dangling. A monitor traced both babies' heartbeats, twin rhythms echoing quietly in the background. Ric stood nearby, pacing in slow, contained circles — not frantic, just... charged.
The nurse had already come in to brief them. The anaesthetist had explained the spinal block. Dr. Anand had given that gentle, firm smile. "You've done everything right. Now let us take over."
But even with the medical machine moving around them, time felt frozen.
Elenora's hands rested over her belly. Thirty weeks and one day. They'd made it.
A soft knock interrupted the stillness.
One of the maternity staff stepped in, grinning. "Delivery for you both."
Ric looked up, startled. "What?"
The nurse handed over a small iPad — a preloaded video message.
From Katie and Caitlin.
The screen came alive with Lucia's face, barely framed in shot, whisper-yelling like it was a secret mission.
"Hi Mummy and Daddy! Katie let me borrow her adult phone and we just wanted to say... go get the babies!"
Caitlin popped into the frame behind her. "We're on waffle four. Send help."
Then Eli leaned over her shoulder, clearly prompted. "You've got this."
Lucia blew a kiss. "Tell Bella and Isla to come quickly so I can be the boss again!"
Ric chuckled, but the moment his eyes left the screen, they turned glassy.
He turned toward the wall, arms crossed tightly, blinking hard.
Elenora watched him. "Ric..."
He shook his head once. Then again. "I'm fine."
She reached for his hand. "You don't have to be."
"I know. I just..." His voice cracked. "You've held it together for so long. And I want to be strong for you. But I'm scared."
"So am I."
They didn't hug. Didn't cry.
They just pressed their foreheads together.
Breath to breath.
Still holding on.
⸻
8:04AM — Theatre
The bright lights were too bright. The beeping too sharp.
Elenora lay back on the table, her arms resting out on padded boards. The spinal block had already taken hold — a strange weightlessness from the waist down that made her panic rise for a moment until Ric appeared beside her, scrub cap askew, eyes locked on hers.
"I'm here," he whispered. "I'm not going anywhere."
A curtain was raised. Instruments clinked softly. The team worked with calm, practiced rhythm.
She couldn't feel the incision.
But she felt everything else.
Her fingers gripped Ric's.
"I'm scared it's too early."
"You've done all you could," he murmured. "You got them this far."
"Just let them cry," she whispered. "I need to hear them cry."
⸻
8:19AM — Birth
Dr. Anand's voice broke through the hum.
"Baby A — here she comes."
Elenora couldn't see her, but she heard it — a sudden, sharp, furious little wail.
Ric let out a sound somewhere between a gasp and a laugh.
"That's Bella," the doctor confirmed. "Strong girl. She's got lungs."
Elenora sobbed in relief.
Then came the shift in tone.
"Now for Baby B..."
Seconds dragged.
Hands moved faster. Focus sharpened. The room changed.
Then—
A smaller cry.
Thinner. Ragged.
But there.
"She's here," Dr. Anand said. "Isla Grace Calafiori. Holding on."
Elenora burst into silent, shaking sobs.
Ric kissed her forehead again and again. "You did it. They did it."
Both girls were rushed to the NICU team — tiny, pale, wires already in motion. Bella weighed just over 3 pounds. Isla, barely 2.
But they were here.
⸻
9:02AM — Recovery
Ric sat beside Elenora, her hand wrapped in his, their babies fighting in another room. The silence was heavy, but it wasn't empty.
"You gave them the world," he whispered.
Elenora blinked slowly, weak and raw. "Now we hold on."
Ric nodded.
"To the good days."
"To the hard days."
"To every heartbeat."
And somewhere down the corridor, two tiny girls were proving they weren't going anywhere just yet.
The hallway to the NICU felt longer than it should.
Everything was quiet — not silent, but softened. Like the hospital itself knew not to speak too loudly around babies who hadn't yet learned to breathe on their own.
Ric walked slowly beside Elenora, his hand wrapped gently around her elbow. She was still recovering, her steps a little uncertain, but her eyes stayed locked on the double doors ahead.
NICU.
Three bold letters. And behind them — everything they'd fought for.
A nurse buzzed them through.
"Parents of Isabella and Isla Calafiori?"
Elenora nodded.
The nurse gave a gentle smile. "Come on in. They've been waiting for you."
⸻
The room was warm. Dim. Quiet except for the rhythmic hums and beeps of monitors and ventilators. It was a different kind of nursery — one built for survival, not sweetness.
There they were.
Two incubators side by side.
Isabella, still small but pink and squirmy, her chest rising and falling beneath a tangle of tubes.
Isla, even smaller. Fragile. Her skin nearly translucent, a gentle shimmer of breath and fight beneath plastic and wires.
Elenora gasped — not in fear, but in awe.
"Oh, my girls..."
A NICU specialist stepped beside them — kind eyes, calm voice.
"I'm Dr. Viotto. You'll see a lot of me. I'm overseeing their care."
She walked them through everything with care and clarity.
"Isabella is on a CPAP — she's breathing well with support. Heart rate stable. Blood sugar good. She's already tolerating small amounts of donor milk through a feeding tube."
Ric blinked. "Already?"
"She's got fire," the doctor smiled. "We love that."
Then her voice gentled as she turned toward Isla's isolette.
"Isla's on a ventilator — her lungs are less mature. Her weight is 950 grams, but her vitals are surprisingly stable for a baby her size. She'll need support longer. Feeding will be slow. She may have minor brain bleeds — we'll scan soon. We're watching for sepsis, but so far... she's holding."
Elenora's hand pressed to the glass. "She always holds."
Dr. Viotto nodded. "She's incredibly resilient."
"And how long will they be here?" Ric asked.
"For Bella — maybe 6 weeks. For Isla... we take it day by day. She's not out of the woods, but we're walking through them."
⸻
Later — in the NICU family lounge
Elenora sat in the recliner, bundled in a soft blanket with Ric beside her. She tapped the screen and hit FaceTime.
Katie answered immediately.
"We've got the gremlins here."
Lucia shoved into frame with glitter stickers all over her cheeks.
"Where are the babies?!"
Elenora smiled. "Are you ready?"
"YES!"
She turned the camera slowly toward the incubators.
Lucia gasped.
Eli peeked over her shoulder. "They're so small."
"Isla's the littlest," Ric said. "But she's strong. Like you two."
Lucia squinted. "Why are there tubes?"
"Because they were born early," Elenora explained. "Their bodies still need help to grow. So the doctors are giving them superpowers."
"Do they cry yet?" Eli asked.
"Bella does," Ric grinned. "Loudly."
"Can we hug them?"
"Soon," Elenora said softly. "But first they have to get bigger. They're going to need time."
Lucia leaned closer to the camera. "Can I tell them something?"
"Of course."
She whispered:
"Hi Bella. Hi Isla. I'm your big sister. I'll protect you forever."
Eli added, quieter:
"And I'll teach you how to build a Lego dragon."