The Unwanted Wife and Her Secret Twins (Mia and Kyle) novel Chapter 512

Mia's POV

Alexander makes a sound. Something between a cheer and a sob. He's off the couch in an instant, crossing the room, throwing himself at me and Madison with enough force to nearly knock us over.

"Thank you thank you thank you—"

"Alexander—"

"—you're the best, Mama, you're the BEST—"

"I can't breathe—"

"—I promise I'll help take care of them, I'll feed them and walk them and—"

"Alexander." Kyle's voice cuts through. "Let your mother breathe."

Alexander pulls back. His face is wet again. He doesn't seem to notice.

"Sorry," he says. "I got excited."

"I noticed."

Ethan has joined us. Not throwing himself at anyone—that's not Ethan's style—but standing close. Close enough that his hand finds my shoulder. Squeezes once.

"I'll create a care schedule," he says. " I'll optimize for efficiency while maintaining adequate rest periods for both the puppies and the caregivers."

"That would be helpful, Ethan."

"I know."

And then all three of them are there. Alexander pressed against my side, Ethan's hand on my shoulder, Madison in my lap. Three children, three heartbeats, three small lives that have wrapped themselves around mine so completely that I can't imagine existing without them.

Gas lifts her head. She's watching us. Watching her puppies and watching us. Her tail wags.

Kyle goes to check on the puppies again. Or that's what he says. What he actually does is crouch beside the whelping box and stay there, his hand resting on Gas's head, his eyes fixed on the sleeping pile of fur and heartbeats.

The children have finally given in to exhaustion.

I should move them. Should carry them to their beds, tuck them in properly, give them the rest they need.

Instead I just sit here. Watching them breathe. Watching Kyle watch the puppies. Watching the morning light stretch across the floor, turning everything gold.

"Kyle."

My voice is quiet. I don't want to wake the children.

He turns his head. Those gray eyes—tired, bloodshot, but present. Here.

"You should be at the hospital."

"I know, Mia." His voice is gentle. Patient. The voice he uses when he's not going to argue, not going to fight, but also not going to change his mind. "I know all of it. I knew it when I got in the car. I knew it the whole drive. I knew it when I was standing outside your door, trying to decide if I should knock or just use the key."

I push myself up. My legs protest. My back screams. Everything in my body is begging me to stay on the floor, to close my eyes, to let the exhaustion take me the way it's taken my children.

Instead I cross the room. Lower myself to the floor beside Kyle. Beside the whelping box. Beside the puppies and Gas and all the small, precious, fragile things that have somehow become my responsibility.

"I need to talk to you," I say. "About something."

Kyle looks at me. Waits.

"The treatment."

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