Too Late To Love Me I Already Left With His Twins (Lydia and Dave) novel Chapter 41

6 weeks!

Lydia POV

It had been six weeks since I gave birth.

Six weeks of no sleep.

Six weeks of leaking in places I did not know women could leak from.

Six weeks of loving two tiny people so violently it sometimes felt like a medical emergency

And somehow

I was still alive.

Barely.

My son, Eli, had discovered that his favorite hobby was screaming like a Victorian orphan every time I put him down for more than seven seconds.

My daughter, Ava, had the face of a tiny tax auditor and the soul of a war veteran.

1

She did not cry often.

She simply stared.

Judgmentally.

As if she had arrived in this world already disappointed by my management.

Three days ago, I sneezed while changing Eli’s diaper.

He startled.

Peed directly into his own face.

Then screamed like I had betrayed him personally.

I laughed so hard I had to sit down on the floor.

Two days ago, Ava somehow managed to yank out a fistful of my hair with the grip strength of a seasoned wrestler.

I stared at her in pain.

She stared back.

Unmoved.

And last night

At precisely 2:14 a.m.-

I finally got both of them asleep.

I stood there in the dark, barely breathing, moving like a bomb technician.

Then Eli let out one tiny hiccup.

Ava woke up.

Then screamed.

+20 Bonus

Which woke him up

And I genuinely considered walking into the sea.

Not to die.

Just to rest.

They were beautiful.

They were mine.

They were also ruining my life in ways I adored and resented simultaneously.

That Tuesday morning, both babies were finally asleep.

A miracle so rare I did not dare move too fast in case God reconsidered. 1

I sat at my tiny kitchen table with cold tea and toast I had forgotten to butter.

There were burp cloths on the counter.

A bottle in the sink.

One sock–mine, somehow–in the fridge.

I had no memory of putting it there.

That felt concerning.

I unlocked my phone and began doomscrolling through a parenting forum.

Mostly because every parenting forum was just exhausted women collectively discovering that no one had prepared them properly.

One thread caught my eye.

“Signs You’re Functioning, Not Coping, As A New Mother.”

I clicked it absentmindedly.

Then stopped reading halfway through.

Because apparently:

Forgetting to eat until 4 p.m. was not normal.

Bursting into tears because the kettle took too long to boil was not normal.

Feeling irrational panic every time the babies slept too long because maybe they had died was also

unfortunately

not normal.

I stared at the screen.

Then looked around my apartment.

The dishes.

The laundry. 1

The way my shoulders remained permanently raised, like my body no longer believed danger ever fully left.

I was surviving.

I would not raise children from inside a version of myself held together by caffeine and untreated trauma.

Her bio said: 1

Helping women rebuild themselves after life changes them.

I booked the appointment before I could overthink it.

+20 Bonus

+20 Bonus

And the first thing I noticed-

before the books.

before the soft chairs,

before the sunlight through the curtains-

was the plant on the windowsill.

Small.

Green.

Healthy.

Something in my chest tightened

Because for one stupid, irrational second-

it reminded me of the cutting I had carried across countries wrapped in damp cloth like it mattered more than half the things I owned.

Maybe it did.

Dr. Sana entered a moment later

She was soft–spoken. Elegant Calm in a way that felt practiced, not performative

She smiled.

“Lydia?”

I stood.

Adjusted Ava.

Nodded.

“Yes.”

She gestured toward the chair opposite hers.

“Come in.”

I stepped inside.

And for the first time in a very long time

I had the terrifying suspicion

that healing might require me to say things out loud.

7

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