Page 31 of Triplet Babies for the CEO

Pressing her lips together as if trying to keep herself from falling apart completely, she sighs heavily. I pull her into my arms, holding her close, letting her lean into me.

“It’s all right, I’m here. Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out,” I murmur, my voice low, just for her ears.

She pulls back just enough to look at me, her expression a mixture of frustration and sadness.

All I want to do is fix whatever’s hurting her so deeply right now.

Tasha takes a deep breath, staring at the laptop screen like it’s her worst enemy, her smooth brow furrowed in the white light. “I…I can’t figure this out, Brody,” she says, her voice trembling with frustration.

“This coursework…these assignments…I thought I’d be able to handle it, but everything just seems so far over my head. It’s like I’m not smart enough to do this.”

Her voice breaks, and she wipes at a tear on her cheek, embarrassed. “I just feel…like an imposter. Like I’m not cut out for this college stuff. I don’t belong here, not with you, not with any of this.”

The way her shoulders slump under the weight of her doubt, the way her words shake from her lips, it just kills me. This is Tasha: strong, determined, unstoppable, optimistic, at least in my eyes.

Right now, though, she looks so small, so unsure, and I can see how desperately she’s trying to live up to the standards she’s set for herself.

I reach out, taking her hands in my own, squeezing gently.

“Hey,” I say softly, brushing my thumb over her knuckles. “You don’t have to do this alone, Tasha. This is hard. It’s normal to struggle, everyone goes through that, no matter how smartthey are. You’re smart, you’re capable, and you’re more than enough. You’ve got this.”

Tasha doesn’t say anything for a moment and just shakes her head, biting her lip as if holding back another wave of emotions.

Looking over it all, I see it’s some kind of introductory business course with terms and concepts that are probably completely new to her. I can feel how badly she wants to believe me, and so pulling a chair beside her, I lean in, taking a closer look at the page that’s been giving her trouble.

“All right, let’s go over this together,” I suggest, keeping my voice steady and calm. “Let’s look at the assignment. Sometimes these things look overwhelming until you break them down piece by piece.”

I watch as she nods gently, tentatively following along as I go over the basics. She asks questions now and then, and after a while, I can see her start to relax, some of the tension easing from her shoulders.

“See?” I say, smiling as she finally gets a tricky part figured out. “You’re already getting the hang of it.”

But still, she lets out a heavy sigh, slumping back in her chair. I watch her, worried, not wanting to push her.

“I don’t know, Brody,” she murmurs, defeated. “I still feel like I’m failing.”

I can tell she’s more tired than anything, her frustration clouding her ability to think clearly.

Tasha’s got a fire, but right now, she looks too worn down to access it.

“Tasha, if you’re not feeling better tomorrow, or maybe in a day or two, you should go see someone. It could be an infection. You might need antibiotics.”

She nods, half-listening, and I sit with her for another hour, helping her slowly work through more of the assignment.

It’s then that Dana pokes her head in, letting us know that dinner is ready.

She gives me a sheepish look, muttering something about freshening up as she slips away from the kitchen. I chuckle, patting my stomach. “I’m going to start eating. I’m too hungry to wait!” I call after her, hoping the warm meal might do us both some good.

Dana’s made one of her classics: hearty chicken and rice soup with soft, golden biscuits fresh from the oven. The first spoonful warms me all the way through, and I realize just how much I needed this meal tonight.

The broth is rich and savory, with chunks of tender chicken, diced carrots, and celery mixed in with fluffy rice, just the way my mother used to make it. Each bite of the biscuit, buttery and crumbly, takes me right back to childhood, to cold nights and warm meals around the kitchen table.

Still, as I savor the comfort of the soup, I notice that Tasha still hasn’t returned.

I glance down the hall, the quiet lingering. I can only imagine how much weight she’s carrying right now, trying to balance work, college, and her own high expectations.

Part of me wants to check on her, but I give her her space, hoping a little time alone might help her gather herself.

Still, I can’t shake off my worry. She’s strong. I’ve seen that firsthand. But even the strongest people need a hand sometimes.

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