Page 155 of Baby Surprise for my Brother's Best Friend

I glance at her, surprised. “Yeah?”

She shrugs, eyes on the horizon. “It sucked. But I’ve moved on. He’s not worth the ink in my journals anymore.” She looks at me and grins. “Besides, I’ve met my baby bestie now.”

I laugh, caught off guard by how sincere she sounds.

But something prickles beneath my skin. Almost as if her words are a little too pointed, laced with something more personal than casual conversation. A little too close to a wound I haven’t stopped bleeding from yet.

As we sit on a bench sipping mango-ginger blends, she leans in. “Hey, I’ve got some baby stuff I’ve been meaning to donate. Bottles, clothes, even a bassinet, barely used.”

“Oh? That’s really sweet of you.”

She waves it off. “It’s just sitting in storage. Might as well go to someone who’ll use it. Besides, during the early ages, things are too expensive, and the babies outgrow them in a couple ofweeks, so why not help a friend? And if you can save some in that, you should. Diapers alone will kill your wallet.”

I hesitate for a second because I have a hard time accepting people might want to help other people without demanding or costing us something in return.

But her smile is warm. Open.

I want so bad to believe people can be kind just to be kind. And this is Nati. She has been a great friend since day one.

“Maybe I could take a look at all that you have one of these days.”

“Why not now? It’s not like we’re in a hurry to go anywhere.”

I hesitate, but eventually, I nod. “Sure. Lead the way.”

We start walking and turn onto a quieter street.

I glance over at her. “So, who’s watching the baby?”

“My dad.” She sips her smoothie. “He’s been super supportive. Loves being a grandpa.”

I nod slowly. “That’s... nice.”

And it is. It really is.

A quiet ache creeps into my chest as I think of my own dad, of how messy things were between us. How maybe we’re finding our way back.

Maybe I’ll have that kind of support from him in the future.

She smiles, but it flickers. “Yeah. We’ve come a long way.”

The street she leads us down feels emptier with each step. Narrower. Quieter. And I keep to my thoughts for a bit.

Then we reach her building.

We climb the stairs, our mats bumping against the narrow walls, footsteps echoing in the quiet staircase.

Nati’s says something about pediatricians and sleep training, but her voice feels distant, like I’m hearing it through water.

My throat tightens. and my stomach knots.

Nati’s apartment is... cold. Not in temperature, but in atmosphere. The lights are too bright. The air smells faintly of lemon cleaner, like someone trying too hard to erase something.

The door clicks shut behind us.

As I look around us, I notice how tidy the place is.

No baby toys. No bottles. No half-folded laundry or burp cloths or pacifiers tucked into couch cushions. No framed photos, no drawings, no signs of life at all, just a pristine couch, a spotless coffee table, and walls too white to feel lived-in.

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