The early morning sun stretched golden across the Oklahoma hills, casting long shadows over the horse pastures and the white-fenced corral. Max stood on the porch, coffee in hand, the scent of dew and wildflowers. His 35th birthday had started quietly—just the way he liked it.
Behind him, laughter spilled through the screen door.
"Roman, you can't wear your boots and swimsuit," Mia called, trying not to laugh as their four-year-old galloped through the kitchen in red cowboy boots and Spider-Man swim trunks.
Max grinned as Rowan, now almost six, came running out next, her wild curls bouncing under the weight of her helmet.
"Daddy! I put her saddle on myself!" she yelled, pointing proudly to their miniature pony, Lulu, tied to the post near the barn.
Max crouched down as Rowan barreled into him, wrapping her arms around his neck.
"You're growing too fast," he said, brushing dust from her cheek. "You were a baby five minutes ago."
Rowan giggled. "I'm almost six. I'm a grown-up."
Max laughed, ruffling her hair. "Don't remind me."
Inside the house, the morning settled into rhythm. Mia pulled on her white coat, stethoscope around her neck, and kissed Max goodbye as she left for a half-day shift at the local clinic. Returning to work part-time had been the right call—just enough to keep her sharp and connected to the career she loved, but not so much that she missed home life's sweet, messy beauty.
Max had found his rhythm, too. The ranch work had become second nature, and the slower pace of life gave him space to write. His memoir, Fields of Fire and Home, had been released the year before and, surprisingly, soared onto the best-seller list. It was honest, tender, and genuine—football, family, love, and the path back to something more profound than fame.
But today, all Max wanted was a quiet birthday, time with his kids, and maybe a slice of that double-chocolate cake Mia always baked him.
He didn't expect anything more.
So when Mia returned just after noon, still in scrubs and carrying a small wrapped box, he met her at the porch with a wide grin.
"Doctor's home," he teased, pulling her into a hug. "Did you bring any birthday prescriptions?"
She smirked, handing him the box. "Just one."
Max raised a brow but opened it slowly, curious. Inside was a tiny white onesie. On the front, in soft gray stitching, it read:
"Baby #3 – Arriving Soon"
Max blinked. Then looked at her. Then back at the onesie.
"No way." He looked up, stunned. "Seriously?"
Mia nodded, tears already brimming in her eyes. "I just found out yesterday. I wanted to wait... but it's your birthday."
Max laughed, shaking his head in disbelief before pulling her into a fierce hug. "We're doing this again? Three kids?"
Rowan and Roman had followed them outside, drawn by the excitement.
"Why's Daddy hugging Mommy like that?" Roman asked, squinting in the sun.
"Because we're gonna have another baby!" Rowan shouted, spinning in a circle. "Yes! I wanted a sister!"
Roman looked skeptical. "What if it's a boy?"
Mia knelt, placing one hand on her belly, still flat but full of promise. "Then you'll be a big brother and the middle child."
Max crouched beside her, pulling both kids in close.
"Three," he said quietly, his voice full of awe. "Three kids. A ranch. A beautiful wife. I used to think the Super Bowl was my greatest achievement…"
Mia looked at him, smiling. "This is the real win, huh?"
He nodded. "This is everything."
After dinner, cake, and bedtime stories that night, Max sat on the porch again, watching fireflies rise from the grass as the sun finally dipped behind the trees. Mia joined him with two mugs of tea and curled into his side.
"You know," he murmured, kissing her hair, "I never imagined this life. But it's the one I was always meant for."
Mia smiled, resting her head on his shoulder. "And it's just getting better."
As the stars blinked to life above their quiet patch of Oklahoma sky, the world felt soft and full—three little heartbeats under one roof, and a love story still unfolding.
THE END