Jake Callahan stood by the window of his small kitchen, a mug of coffee cradled in his hands. Outside, the morning was still waking up. The frost on the grass hadn't yet melted, and the sun peeked over the horizon with a pale, tired glow. He'd been up since five, like always. Routine helped. He liked knowing what came next.
A light knock on the door pulled his attention. He set the mug down and opened it to find his younger brother, Ryan, standing there in a worn hoodie, guitar case slung over one shoulder and a coffee cup in hand.
"You always open the door like you're expecting bad news," Ryan said with a half-smile.
"And you always show up like it's still summer in California," Jake replied, stepping aside so Ryan could come in.
Ryan laughed and dropped his guitar case gently by the door. "Old habits."
Jake closed the door behind him and walked back into the kitchen. "Coffee?"
"Already got one," Ryan said, raising his cup. "But I won't say no to breakfast."
Jake shook his head and pulled eggs from the fridge. They moved around each other in silence for a few minutes, familiar in the way brothers often are when words aren't needed. The kitchen smelled of toast and eggs, the air warming with each passing minute.
"She okay?" Ryan asked finally, sliding into a chair at the table.
Jake looked over his shoulder. "Emma? I think so. She texted last night. Said she made it home fine."
Ryan nodded, chewing on a piece of toast. "It's gotta be weird. Being there without Luke."
"Yeah," Jake said quietly. "We told him we'd look out for her."
"We will."
They let the promise settle between them. Jake thought about the last time all three of them had been in the same room. Luke looked tired, but focused. He'd pulled them aside, away from Emma, and said, plain and clear, "Just check in on her, okay? It's going to be hard for her. And... I need to know someone's there."
Neither of them hesitated. Jake, the eldest, had always been the steady one. Ryan, the middle child, was used to moving between people, bringing warmth where it was needed. Different as they were, both had said yes without a second thought.
"I was thinking of stopping by this afternoon," Jake said, setting a plate down in front of Ryan. "Just to check. Maybe bring her something."
"Good idea. I could go tomorrow. Maybe play a little, keep it light."
Jake nodded. "We don't need to hover. Just be around."
"Yeah. Not like she needs two big shadows lurking around the house."
They shared a small laugh. The kind that came not from humor, but from familiarity. From shared responsibility.
Later that afternoon, Jake pulled up in front of Emma's house. It looked the same as always—clean yard, white shutters, a small porch with two empty rocking chairs. He carried a paper bag with fresh bread and soup from a local bakery. Simple, but warm.
He knocked and waited. After a moment, Emma opened the door. Her hair was pulled into a loose bun, and she wore a sweater that looked too big, probably Luke's.
"Hey," Jake said.
"Hey," she replied, stepping aside to let him in. "Come in."
He handed her the bag. "Brought some food. Not much. Just thought you might not feel like cooking."
She smiled, tired but genuine. "Thank you. That's really thoughtful."
Jake stepped into the living room. It was tidy, though a little lived-in now. A mug on the coffee table. A folded blanket. Signs of someone adjusting to quiet.
"How are you feeling?" he asked.
Emma sat down on the couch and tucked her legs beneath her. "Okay. Some moments are harder than others. I keep thinking I'll hear his voice in the other room. Then I remember."
Jake sat across from her. "You don't have to pretend with us. We get it."
"I know. And I'm glad you're here. Really."
They sat in companionable silence for a few minutes. Jake noticed a small stack of baby books on the end table.
"You start reading up already?" he asked, nodding toward them.
Emma gave a small laugh. "Yeah. I figured I should. It helps me feel like I'm doing something."
"Makes sense. You don't have to do it all alone though. We're around."
"I know. Luke said you'd both help. And I believe him."
They talked a little more about everyday things—the weather, the bakery Jake got the soup from, how the heater in her car had started making a weird sound. Before he left, he promised to look at it over the weekend.
"Thanks again," Emma said as she walked him to the door.
"Anytime. Seriously. You need anything, just call."
The next day, it was Ryan's turn. He arrived in the afternoon with his guitar and a box of donuts. He knocked with a rhythm, like a little song, and Emma opened the door already smiling.
"Hey, rock star," she said.
"Hey, mama," Ryan replied, grinning. "I brought sugar and sound."
She stepped aside and let him in. "You sure know how to charm a girl."
"It's a gift," he said, placing the box on the table and unzipping his guitar case.
They sat for a while, Ryan playing soft tunes, Emma curled up on the couch listening. The music filled the empty spaces. It wasn't loud or dramatic, just gentle chords and quiet lyrics. Songs about hope, about time, about staying grounded.
"You ever think about writing a lullaby?" she asked after a while.
Ryan smiled. "I could try. Any requests?"
"Something simple. Something that says, 'I've got you.'"
He nodded. "I can do that."
They spent the afternoon talking about nothing and everything. Emma told him about the nursery, how she hadn't decided on a theme. Ryan offered to paint a mural. "Something soft. Maybe trees and stars."
"I'd love that," she said.
Before he left, he looked at her seriously. "You're not alone in this, Em. Jake and I, we're not going anywhere."
She felt tears prick her eyes but blinked them back. "Thanks, Ry. That means more than you know."
He leaned down and kissed the top of her head. "Tell that little bean I said hi."
After he was gone, Emma stood in the doorway for a moment longer, holding her belly. The house still felt quiet. But now, it didn't feel quite so empty.
And somewhere inside, a new promise began to take root.