WebNovels

Chapter 3 - 3

Sam stepped out of the bathroom wrapped in his favorite towel — the one with little moons and stars stitched along the edge. The warm steam clung to him like a hug as he padded back to his room, changed into fresh clothes, and brushed his damp hair. He still felt a little tender, a little unsure, but clean now. Calmer.

By the time he came downstairs, the kitchen smelled like cinnamon toast and scrambled eggs. Sunlight poured across the table in golden strips, and Max and Silas were already halfway through their breakfasts, arguing over whose turn it was to feed the dog.

"You fed him yesterday," Silas said through a mouthful of eggs.

"Did not," Max replied. "That was Monday."

"Yesterday was Monday."

"No it—"

"Boys," came Leo's voice from the stove, light and sing-song. "Not before Sam's first sip of tea, I beg you."

Sam gave a small laugh and slid into his usual seat at the table. His tea was already waiting, steam curling in soft spirals above the mug. The scent of mint and ginger greeted him like an old friend.

"Morning," Silas said, not looking up.

"You look weird," Max added, squinting at him. "In the face. Not like—bad weird. Just... different."

Sam sipped his tea, cheeks warming. "Thanks?"

Max shrugged and went back to his toast. That was how his brothers were — blunt, chaotic, but never mean.

They were triplets, born just minutes apart, raised on the same bedtime stories, the same summer hikes, the same loud, loving home. But Sam had always known he was a little different. Not just in what he liked or how he dressed—but something deeper. Something quiet and private.

Only Papa Leo and Daddy knew the whole of it. The way his body worked differently. The truth of him.

And for now, that was enough.

Leo brought over a plate of eggs and gently set it down in front of Sam, giving his shoulder a squeeze. His eyes were kind. "Everything alright?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah. I feel... okay."

Leo smiled. "Good. Let me know if that changes."

From the hallway, Daddy's voice floated in. "Did someone say cinnamon toast? Save me a slice!"

"Too late!" Max called.

Silas laughed and shoved the last piece into his mouth.

Sam looked around the table—at his chaotic brothers, at Leo humming as he wiped the counter, at the light dancing through the kitchen window. His insides felt tender, yes, but also full. Like something had quietly unfolded, and the world was still here, still steady beneath him.

He took another sip of tea and let himself smile.

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