Too Late To Love Me I Already Left With His Twins (Lydia and Dave) novel Chapter 303

Dave POV

After disturbing Lydia sufficiently enough for one morning, I eventually got bundled out of her room with the children like we were three particularly annoying guests who had overstayed our welcome.

I didn’t even complain.

Mostly because Lydia had that look on her face—the one that said if I argued, she would personally find a way to throw me out of the house. And partly because watching her try to maintain her dignity after everything Anna had heard was far too entertaining to ruin.

Eli was still asking questions as we walked down the hallway, and Ava was laughing at him every few seconds. I looked back once before leaving and caught Lydia standing near her bedroom door, arms folded, watching us with an expression that was equal parts exasperation and amusement. She caught me looking and immediately pointed toward the hallway.

“Go.”

I smiled.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Dave.”

I laughed and finally turned around.

By the time I got downstairs, though, my mind had already moved on to something else.

I needed to tell people.

Not everyone, obviously. I wasn’t about to announce my relationship status to the entire world like some teenager posting a relationship update. But there were people who had been there through the worst parts of our story, people who had watched Lydia struggle, people who had watched me struggle, and people who had quietly helped us get through things without ever asking for credit.

Madam Eloise was one of those people.

I stood there for a moment with my phone in my hand, thinking about how to tell her.

She probably already knew.

Actually, she almost certainly knew.

Madam Eloise had a way of knowing things before anyone told her. I wouldn’t have been surprised if she had somehow known Lydia and I were back together before Lydia and I had even officially admitted it to ourselves.

Still, I wanted to tell her.

She had done so much for Lydia over the years, and indirectly, she had done plenty for me too. She had been there for the children, for Lydia, for the family. She had seen pieces of our lives that even some of the people closest to us hadn’t seen.

So I opened our conversation.

Then I stared at the screen.

An email felt too formal.

Dear Madam Eloise,

No.

Absolutely not.

I deleted the thought before it could become a sentence.

I typed instead.

Hi Madam Eloise, this is Dave. I’m texting to let you know that Lydia and I are back together and she has gotten her memories back.

I stopped.

My thumb hovered over the send button.

The last part made me hesitate.

I didn’t know whether Lydia would mind me telling her.

But Madam Eloise wasn’t exactly a stranger. She loved Lydia. She had been part of our lives for years. And, more importantly, I had a feeling she would understand why that detail mattered.

I read the message again.

Then I pressed send.

The message hadn’t even settled properly on the screen before the typing indicator appeared.

I smiled.

That woman was fast.

Her reply came almost immediately.

Oh wow. Congratulations to the both of you. Sending you love and happiness. When is the wedding?

I stared at the screen.

Then I laughed.

Of course.

Straight to the wedding.

I slipped my phone into my pocket and took a few steps before stopping.

The wedding.

That was true.

We definitely needed to have a wedding.

Eventually.

The problem was that I hadn’t actually discussed marriage with Lydia.

Not properly.

Not since everything changed.

Not since she got her memories back.

Not since she chose me.

And suddenly, the thought of proposing didn’t feel as simple as it had in my head.

I loved her.

That part wasn’t complicated.

I had loved Lydia through anger, distance, silence, misunderstandings, five years of separation, and the unbearable fear that I might never get my family back.

I loved her when she was angry with me.

I loved her when she wouldn’t speak to me.

I loved her when she looked at me like I was the last person on earth she wanted to see.

And somehow, after everything, she had still found her way back to me.

So why was I suddenly terrified of asking her to marry me?

I pulled my phone out again.

I opened our conversation.

Typed.

Deleted.

Typed again.

Deleted again.

Do you want to get married?

Too direct.

What do you think about weddings?

Terrible.

If we were to get married…

I stared at that one for a few seconds before deleting it too.

What if she wasn’t ready?

What if she wanted us to simply enjoy being together first?

What if the accident, the memory loss, the children, everything we’d just survived had made her want stability but not necessarily marriage?

What if I brought it up too soon and turned something beautiful into another thing she had to think about?

I exhaled slowly.

There were too many what-ifs.

And I hated what-ifs.

Usually, when I didn’t know what to do, I acted.

I made a decision.

I fixed the problem.

I moved.

This was different.

Because this wasn’t a business deal.

It wasn’t a legal problem.

It wasn’t a negotiation.

It was Lydia.

And with Lydia, I cared too much about getting it right.

I sat down and looked at my phone again.

Then, because apparently my dignity had completely abandoned me, I opened the browser.

I typed:

How do I tell my girlfriend I want to marry her?

I stared at the words.

Then I frowned.

Girlfriend?

No.

I deleted the search.

Typed again.

How do I tell the mother of my kids I want to marry her?

At some point, I realized I had been sitting there reading strangers’ relationship problems instead of actually solving mine.

Thirty-five minutes.

Thirty-five.

I locked my phone and dropped it beside me.

“This is ridiculous.”

I picked it up again almost immediately.

Maybe there was something I had missed.

I searched again.

This time, I found a page offering personalized relationship counseling.

I stared at it.

There was an option to fill out a form, explain the situation, and receive personalized advice.

I leaned back.

Now that made sense.

Because I didn’t need generic advice.

I didn’t need someone telling me to “communicate openly” or “create a romantic atmosphere.”

I knew how to communicate.

Mostly.

What I needed was someone who understood that I wasn’t asking a woman I’d been dating for six months to marry me.

I was asking the woman I’d already built a family with.

The woman I’d lost.

The woman I’d spent years wanting back.

The woman who had only just remembered loving me.

That was different.

I clicked the form.

The first question appeared.

Tell us about your relationship.

I stared at it.

Easy enough.

I began typing.

We’ve been together before. We have two children. We separated for five years. She recently recovered memories of our relationship after losing them, and we’ve decided to be together again.

I stopped.

That sounded insane.

I deleted it.

Started again.

My girlfriend is also the mother of my children, my ex-wife—

I paused.

Technically—

I deleted that too.

I rubbed my face.

This was harder than I expected.

Then my phone began vibrating in my hand.

I looked down.

Anna calling.

I stared at her name for a second.

Of course.

I answered.

“Hello?”

There was barely a second of silence before Anna’s voice came through.

“Dave.”

I sat up.

Something about her tone immediately told me this wasn’t going to be a casual call.

M