JAY-JAY POV
The kids were one year old now.
They crawl everywhere, their tiny hands and knees pattering against the floor like a rhythm only they know. And at midnight, they still wake me — hungry, restless, demanding. One after another, like they've rehearsed it.
Honestly, I felt bad for my parents. I remembered waking Mama Reycee at midnight because I was hungry too. She never got mad. Not once. She would hold me close, whisper softly, and feed me with patience that seemed endless.
Now, I understood.
The exhaustion, the heavy eyes, the aching body — and yet, the way love overpowered it all. The way a child's cry could pierce through sleep but also fill your heart with purpose.
Kade snapped me out of my thoughts by crawling straight into my lap, his little giggle bubbling up as if proud of himself. I scooped him closer, pressing a kiss to his hair.
I've been trying to let them walk, encouraging their tiny steps even when they wobble and fall. But Keifer… he never lets them. The moment one of them tumbles, he's already there, scooping them up like they're made of glass.
"Keif," I teased, watching him hover as Kevin tried to pull himself up on the edge of the bed, "you've got to let them fall sometimes. That's how they learn."
Keifer frowned, holding Kiara against his chest protectively. "They're too small. What if they hurt themselves?"
I laughed softly, brushing Kade's cheek as he babbled. "They're tougher than you think. Remember when Kade bumped his head last week? He cried for two seconds and then laughed like nothing happened."
Keifer sighed, his eyes softening as he looked at the three of them. "I just… I don't want them to feel pain."
I leaned closer, resting my head against his shoulder. "I know. But pain is part of growing. And besides, they've got us. We'll always be here to catch them when it matters."
Kade tugged at my shirt, Kevin let out a determined squeal as he tried to stand again, and Kiara kicked her legs like she was ready to run before anyone else.
Watching them, I realized: this was the beginning of their steps into the world. And Keifer and I — tired, protective, hopeful — were learning right alongside them.
"Keifer," I said firmly, sitting up straighter even though exhaustion still clung to me.
"What?" he asked, raising a brow, already suspicious of my tone.
"Get the camera," I declared, pointing toward the drawer where we kept it. "Because today, no matter what, I will teach them how to walk."
Keifer blinked at me, then glanced at the triplets, who were busy crawling across the bed like tiny explorers. "Fine"
He said nothing more and went to grab his phone, already preparing to record.
Meanwhile, I scooped up the triplets one by one, setting them carefully at the end of the hallway. Their tiny bodies wobbled as they sat there, wide‑eyed and curious, as if sensing something important was about to happen.
Once they were all lined up, I ran back to Keifer, my heart pounding with excitement. "Okay," I whispered, clutching his arm. "This is it. Today, they're going to walk."
"Start recording," I said, my voice firm with determination.
Keifer nodded, lifting his phone, his eyes already soft with anticipation.
Kevin, the eldest, was the first to stand. His little legs trembled, but his eyes locked on me with determination.
"Come on," I encouraged, opening my arms wide. "Come to Mama."
And then it happened — Kevin took his first step.
"That's it, hon, that's it! You're doing it," I whispered, tears pricking my eyes. "Just a few more."
He wobbled forward, and then, as if he had always known how, Kevin began to walk.
Kade, watching his big brother, pushed himself up next. His little grin spread wide as he followed Kevin's lead, his steps clumsy but brave.
"Oh, hon, that's it! You're doing it too!" I cheered, my heart swelling as both boys toddled toward me.
And then Kiara — bold, determined, refusing to be left behind — stood up. Her tiny fists clenched, her eyes fierce, and she took her steps straight toward us.
The three of them ran — or at least their version of running — right into my arms. I scooped them close, kissing their foreheads, my tears spilling freely. "Oh, see? You did it! That wasn't hard now, was it?"
Keifer lowered his phone, his smile wide and proud. "And they didn't fall," he said, relief in his voice. He walked over, picking up Kiara and holding her close. "You walked, princess," he whispered, kissing her forehead.
I looked at all three of them, their giggles filling the room, their tiny steps echoing like the sound of miracles. And in that moment, I knew: this was the beginning of a new chapter.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
NEXT MORNING
KEIFER POV
I still can't believe the triplets are one year old.
Just yesterday, they took their first steps — wobbly, determined, and perfect. My heart nearly burst watching them stumble toward Jay, their little faces glowing with pride. I don't think I've ever felt more proud in my life.
Now, they're everywhere. Ever since they learned how to walk, it's like the whole house belongs to them. I've been searching for them all morning, following the trail of giggles and tiny footsteps.
I finally found them in the nursery with Jay.
She was sitting cross‑legged on the floor, the three of them gathered around her like little ducklings. Her voice was soft but firm, full of encouragement. "Come on, say MA‑MA," she coaxed, her smile wide and hopeful.
Kevin tilted his head, babbling nonsense sounds that almost resembled words.
Kade clapped his hands, as if cheering his brother on.
And Kiara, bold as always, stared straight at Jay, her lips moving as though she was determined to get it right.
I leaned against the doorway, watching them with a smile tugging at my lips. Jay's patience, her laughter, the way the kids looked at her — it was everything.
"MA‑MA," Jay repeated gently, tapping her chest. "Mama."
The triplets giggled, their voices overlapping in a chorus of baby sounds. None of them quite said it yet, but I knew it was coming.
And standing there, I realized: walking was just the beginning.
I walked into the nursery, grinning as I saw Jay sitting with the triplets, her voice patient and sweet. "Come on, say MA‑MA," she coaxed, tapping her chest.
I couldn't resist. "Come on, guys, say PA‑PA," I said, crouching down beside them, my grin widening.
Jay whipped her head toward me, narrowing her eyes. "Keifer… I've been trying to get them to say Mama."
"And I want them to say Papa," I shot back, puffing my chest out like it was a competition.
Her glare sharpened. "GET OUT," she said, pointing dramatically toward the door.
I laughed, holding my hands up in surrender. "Fine, fine. But when they say Papa first, don't come crying to me."
The triplets giggled, babbling nonsense sounds that made neither of us victorious.
Kevin slapped his hands together, Kade squealed, and then Kiara let out a sound — clear as day.
"Pa‑pa."
Jay's eyes widened in shock.
I froze, my heart leaping, and rushed to pick her up. "See? She's a dada girl!" I said proudly, holding Kiara close.
Jay pouted, her lips curling into the cutest little face. "That's not fair. I've been trying to get her to say Mama, but she said Papa first."
Honestly, she looked adorable like that — frustrated but soft, her cheeks puffed out, her eyes sparkling.
"Oh, babe," I teased gently, kissing her temple. "She's a dada girl. Admit it." I turned to Kiara, smiling. "Right, princess?"
"Pa‑pa," she said again, her tiny voice ringing like music.
Jay groaned dramatically, then turned to the boys. "Come on, Kevin and Kade. Say Ma‑ma. Don't let Mama be outnumbered."
She crouched down, her voice full of hope. "Say Ma‑ma."
Kevin blinked at her, his lips moving slowly. "Ma‑ma," he said, soft but clear.
Kade followed, his little voice louder, more certain. "Ma‑ma."
Jay froze, her eyes filling with tears.
She scooped them both into her arms, hugging them tightly, her voice breaking. "You said it… you really said it."
I stood there, holding Kiara, watching Jay cry and laugh at the same time.
My chest ached with pride.
First steps, first words — every milestone was a reminder that our chaos was turning into something beautiful.
And in that moment, I realized:
whether they said Papa or Mama first didn't matter.
What mattered was that they had us — and we had them.