LOVING ME AND MY QUADRUPLETS

The Deadline

**Chapter 6 — Anna's POV**

Taking care of four babies alone was one of the hardest things I had ever faced in my life. I don't think anything could have prepared me for it — not the parenting books I'd skimmed during my pregnancy, not the advice from friends who had one child and thought that qualified them to speak on having four. Nothing prepares you for four.

Only my sister Laura was truly with me through those first weeks. She'd moved into the spare room without me even having to ask, packed a bag the same night of the funeral and stayed, feeding bottles at two in the morning, rocking whichever twin was crying loudest while I tried to manage the other three. I don't know what I would have done without her. I don't think I would have survived those weeks at all.

Most nights blurred together into the same exhausting rhythm — feed, change, rock, repeat, over and over until the sun came up and I realized I hadn't slept more than an hour at a stretch. But it was the quiet hours, after I'd finally gotten all four girls settled into their cribs, that were the hardest. That was when the house went still enough for grief to catch up with me.

I remember one night in particular, standing over Mandy's crib long after she'd fallen asleep, just watching her tiny chest rise and fall, when the weight of everything finally became too much. I slipped out of the nursery, careful not to wake any of them, and made my way down the hall to our — *my* — bedroom, where Vince's photograph still sat on the nightstand exactly where I'd left it.

I picked it up and held it against my chest, sinking onto the edge of the bed. Midnight had come and gone, and the house was so quiet I could hear my own heartbeat, so quiet it almost hurt.

"Why did you leave me?" I whispered into the dark, my voice cracking on every word. "Why? Why did I have to lose you? Why did this happen to us, with four kids, why—"

I couldn't finish the sentence. I just sat there and cried, the way I cried most nights when no one was watching, when I didn't have to hold myself together for Laura or the babies or anyone else who needed me to be strong.

I don't know how long I stayed like that, lost somewhere between grief and exhaustion, before I finally let myself drift into a restless sleep, still clutching the photo frame against my chest.

The next morning came too fast, the way mornings always did now. I was barely dressed, hair still a mess, trying to get Michelle to take her bottle while Mabel screamed from the bassinet in the corner, when the doorbell rang. It was eight a.m. — too early for visitors, too early for anything good.

Laura answered while I finished settling Michelle, and I heard voices in the hallway, low and formal in a way that made my stomach drop before I even understood why.

Two men in suits stood in our living room when I walked in, both carrying leather folders, both wearing the kind of carefully neutral expressions that told me immediately this wasn't a social visit.

"Mrs. Whitmore?" the older one asked. "We're from First National. We need a few minutes of your time regarding your late husband's accounts."

I shifted Michelle onto my hip, my heart already pounding. "Of course. Please, sit down."

They didn't sit. That should have told me something.

"Your husband," the man continued, glancing briefly at his folder as if the words might land more gently coming from a page, "had taken out a substantial business loan to fund the expansion of Vance Logistics. The project was still underway at the time of his death."

I nodded slowly, though I didn't fully understand where this was going. "I know he was expanding the warehouses. He'd talked about it."

"With his passing," the second man said, "and without an active borrower managing repayment, the loan has gone into default. The bank has frozen certain business operations tied to the collateral, and repayment is now being demanded in full."

The room seemed to tilt slightly. I adjusted my grip on Michelle without realizing I'd done it, holding her a little tighter.

"I— I don't understand," I said. "How much are we talking about?"

The number they gave me nearly buckled my knees. I had to steady myself against the back of the couch, my mind racing through everything I knew about our finances, which — I was realizing in that moment — was far less than I should have known. Vince had always handled the business side of things. I trusted him completely. I never thought I'd need to know the details myself.

"There's more," the older man said, and something in his tone made my stomach drop even further. "Given the size of the outstanding debt and the current status of the estate, the bank has issued a deadline. If repayment terms aren't met by that date, we'll be forced to proceed with eviction from this property."

"Eviction?" The word came out of me sharper than I intended, disbelief bleeding into panic. "This is my home. My children live here."

"We understand this is difficult, Mrs. Whitmore. But the loan was secured against this property, along with several others under your husband's name."

I stood there, Michelle fussing softly against my shoulder, Laura hovering anxiously in the doorway, and I felt something harden inside me that hadn't been there a moment before — some instinct rising beneath the grief, beneath the exhaustion, refusing to let this be the thing that finally broke me.

"I can sort this out," I said, my voice steadier than I felt. "My husband left a business. I can make this work."

The two men exchanged a glance I didn't like, the kind of look that told me they'd heard promises like mine before, from other widows, in other living rooms, and knew exactly how often those promises fell apart.

"We'll extend the standard grace period," the older man said finally, closing his folder with a note of finality. "But I want to be very clear, Mrs. Whitmore. Failure to meet the terms by the deadline means eviction, effective immediately. No further extensions."

He handed me a document, thick with fine print I didn't have the strength to read yet, and turned toward the door.

I stood frozen in my living room long after they'd gone, staring down at the papers in my hand, Michelle finally quiet against my shoulder, the weight of everything pressing down on me all at once.

*Four babies. A dead husband. A company I knew nothing about how to run. And now, a deadline hanging over my head like a blade.*

I didn't know how I was going to save this house.

I didn't even know where to start.