The Unwanted Wife and Her Secret Twins (Mia and Kyle) novel Chapter 505

Mia's POV

Gas looked up at us. Her eyes were bright, wild with something ancient and instinctive. She whined.

"Mama." Alexander's hand found mine. "Is Gas okay?"

"She's fine. This is normal." I squeezed his fingers. "But it might take a long time. Hours, maybe. Dogs don't have their babies all at once."

"How long?"

"I don't know exactly. Every dog is different."

"Can we stay? Can we watch?"

I looked at them. Three small faces, still damp from the bath, still flushed from the warm water. Three sets of eyes, wide and worried and hopeful.

"Not tonight," I said.

"But—"

"It's almost two in the morning. You need to sleep."

"We're not tired!"

"Alexander, you were literally falling asleep in the car."

"That was CAR tired. This is PUPPY tired. Different kinds of tired."

"There's only one kind of tired, and you have it."

"That's not scientifically accurate," Ethan said.

"Bed. Now."

Alexander opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. "What if they're born while we're sleeping?" His voice was smaller now.

I knelt down. Took his face in my hands—his damp, warm, bubble-scented face.

"Listen to me," I said. "Gas is just getting started. This is the very beginning. She's making her nest, getting comfortable. The real labor—the pushing, the puppies—that's still hours away."

"How do you know?"

"I am a mother."I glanced at Gas, still circling, still digging. "She's not ready yet. When she's ready, you'll know. She'll lie down and stay down. Her breathing will change. She'll start pushing."

"And you'll wake us up?"

"I promise."

"PROMISE promise?"

"Promise promise."

Alexander studied my face. Looking for lies. Looking for the particular kind of adult dishonesty. "The first puppy," he said finally. "You have to wake us up for the first puppy. Not the second. Not the third. The FIRST."

"The first," I agreed."Alexander." I kissed his forehead. Right between the eyebrows, where a small wrinkle had formed from all his worrying. "I promise. The first puppy. You'll be there."

He exhaled. A long, slow breath. Relief.

"Okay," he said. "Okay. But I'm not going to sleep. I'm just going to lie down with my eyes closed. That's different."

"Whatever you say."

"It IS different."

"I believe you."

"You don't. But that's okay."

I tucked them in one by one.

Alexander first. He was already half-asleep by the time his head hit the pillow, his protests about not being tired dissolving into mumbles.

"Mama?"

"Mm?"

"Tell Gas I love her. And that I'm proud of her. And that she's going to be a great mom."

"I'll tell her."

"And tell the puppies—" A yawn, huge, jaw-cracking. "—tell them welcome to the family."

"I will."

"And tell Daddy—"

But he was asleep. Whatever message he'd had for Kyle, lost to dreams.

Madison looked at him. "Alexander and Ethan are asleep." I nodded.

"I was thinking about Gas. And her babies."

"What about them?"

"She's going to be a mama." Madison's voice was soft.

"Yes."

"That's... that's really something. Isn't it?"

I lowered myself to the floor beside the whelping box. The hardwood was cold through my pajamas. I didn't care. I settled in, my back against the couch, my legs stretched out in front of me.

"Hungry?" I asked.

Gas's ears perked up. Just slightly. The universal dog response to any question that might involve food.

I'd prepared for this. Weeks ago, when the vet had given me the list—soft foods, easily digestible, high in protein. Scrambled eggs. Boiled chicken. Things that would give her strength without upsetting her stomach.

"Here you go," I said. "Eat up. You're going to need your strength."

I held the plate out. Gas sniffed it—once, twice—then began to eat. Slowly. Carefully. Not her usual enthusiastic gobbling.

She knew. On some level, in some ancient, instinctive part of her brain, she knew what was coming.

I watched her eat. Watched her lick the plate clean. Watched her settle back down, her eyes half-closing, her breathing slow and steady.

"Good girl," I said. "Good, good girl."

My hand found her head. Stroked between her ears. The fur there was softer than anywhere else—puppy-soft, even after all these years.

"I know how you feel," I said. "I mean—not exactly. But sort of. I remember."

Gas's eyes opened. Fixed on my face.

The memory rose up—vivid, visceral. My hands on my swollen stomach. The kicks beneath my palms. The strange intimacy of carrying someone inside you, of being never alone and always alone at the same time.

"And then, when they came—" I had to stop again. Clear my throat. "When they came, it hurt. God, it hurt. Like my body was being torn in half, like something was breaking me open from the inside."

Gas whined.

"But then they were there. These two tiny, screaming, perfect people."

I was crying. I hadn't meant to cry. But the tears were coming anyway, quiet, sliding down my cheeks.

Gas shifted closer. Her nose touched my knee. Wet. Cold. Comforting.

"I don't know why I'm telling you this," I said. I leaned down. Pressed my face into her fur. Breathed in the smell of her—dog and warmth and home.

"You're going to be a great mom," I said. "The best mom. Those puppies are so lucky."

Her tail wagged. Once. Twice.

"And I'm going to be right here," I said. "The whole time. Every contraction. Every puppy. I'm not going anywhere."

Gas sighed again. That deep, trusting sigh.