The Unwanted Wife and Her Secret Twins (Mia and Kyle) novel Chapter 307

Chapter 3071 don’t want you to talk to him

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Chapter 307 I don’t want you to talk to him

Mia’s POV

I stood in my kitchen, phone pressed to my ear, listening to Thomas’s apologetic voice explaining that his Chicago meetings had been extended another day.

“I’m sorry, Mia,” his voice crackled through the speaker, the connection spotty. “I won’t be back until tomorrow evening.”

“It’s fine,” I said. “These things happen.”

“Are you sure?”

I glanced toward the living room where Alexander and Ethan were building an elaborate fort out of couch cushions, their voices a constant stream of excited chatter about structural engineering and optimal pillow placement.

“Just a long day,” I said. “when you get back, we can talk.”

After we hung up, I ordered Thai food from our favorite place down the street, requesting extra spice on my pad thai. I needed something that would burn away the lingering taste of anger.

For the boys, I made their usual favorites–grilled cheese sandwiches cut into perfect triangles and apple slices arranged just the way they liked them.

“Mama, what’s that smell?” Alexander asked, abandoning his fort construction to investigate the

kitchen.

“Thai food,” I said, unpacking the steaming containers. “Very spicy Thai food.”

Ethan appeared beside his brother, his nose wrinkling as he examined the aromatic containers. “It smells like fire,”

“That’s actually a pretty good description,” I said, impressed by his poetic assessment.

“Can we try some?” Alexander asked, already reaching toward my container before I could stop him.

“Absolutely not,” I said, gently moving the food out of his reach. “This is grown–up spicy. It would hurt your mouth.”

“But we’re brave!” Alexander protested, drawing himself up.

Ethan nodded in agreement. “We’ve tried lots of spicy things before. Remember when we tasted that hot sauce in grandma’s refrigerator?”

I remembered that incident. They’d both spent minutes crying and demanding milk.

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“Boys, this is different. This isn’t just a little bit spicy. This is really, truly, burn–your–tongue–off spicy.”

“Please, Mama?” Alexander’s gray eyes went wide with pleading. “Just one tiny bite?”

“Yes, just a little,” Ethan echoed seriously, as if this were a legitimate research endeavor.

I looked at their determined little faces. Children’s bravery lies in the fact that they don’t seem to know that there are things in this world that are more terrifying than they can imagine.

“Fine,” I said, holding up one finger. “One tiny bite each. But I’m warning you–when you start crying, I’m going to say ‘I told you so.“”

I carefully portioned out the smallest possible amounts onto two separate spoons, making sure to avoid any of the more intense pepper pieces.

Alexander went first, grabbing the spoon with characteristic enthusiasm and shoving the entire

contents into his mouth.

His reaction was immediate and dramatic.

His eyes went wide, then began watering profusely. His face turned an alarming shade of red, and he began making small choking sounds while frantically fanning his mouth with both hands.

“Water!” he gasped. “Water! Fire! Fire in my mouth!”

I handed him his glass of milk, which he drained in approximately three seconds before demanding

more.

Ethan, meanwhile, had been watching his brother’s reaction. He took his tiny spoonful and chewed thoughtfully.

“How is it?” I asked, waiting for the inevitable meltdown.

“It’s… warm,” he said slowly. “Can I have more?”

I stared at him. “More?”

“Please?”

Alexander, still recovering from his ordeal with the aid of his second glass of milk, looked at his brother.

“Ethan, your mouth is made of steel,” he declared with deep respect.

I gave Ethan another small spoonful, watching in amazement as he consumed it with the same thoughtful appreciation I might show a fine wine.

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“This is incredible,” I murmured, more to myself than to them.

Genetics really is a magical thing.

Here were my identical twin sons, sharing the same DNA, raised in exactly the same environment, eating exactly the same foods their entire lives.

“Mama, why can Ethan eat fire food and I can’t?” Alexander asked, having recovered enough to rejoin the conversation.

“Everyone’s body is different,” I explained. “Some people like spicy food, some people don’t. It doesn’t make either of you better or worse–you’re just different.”

“But we’re twins,” Alexander pointed out with four–year–old logic. “Aren’t twins supposed to be the same?”

“You’re the same in lots of ways,” I said, sitting down at the table with them. “You both love dinosaurs and space books. You both hate brussels sprouts. You both give the best hugs in the world. But you’re also different people, which makes you each special in your own way.”

Ethan nodded sagely, then held up his spoon. “Can I have more fire food?”

The next morning, I dropped the twins off at preschool with an unusual sense of unease prickling at the base of my skull. As I pulled into the parking lot, I saw a silver sedan parked near the far corner.

Maxwell had a same car like this.

But I couldn’t be completely certain. Silver sedans were common enough.

“Alexander, Ethan,” I said, stopping just outside the main entrance.

They both looked up at me.

“Do you remember the man from the park? The one who caught Alexander when he fell from the climbing structure?”

“The superhero man who sent us presents!” Alexander said immediately.

“Mr. Maxwell,” Ethan added.

“Right. Well, if you see him today–or any day–I don’t want you to talk to him.”

Both boys frowned.

“But why?” Alexander asked. “He was nice to us.”

“And he gave us the telescope and the art supplies,” Ethan pointed out. “Those were really good presents.”

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I knelt down to their level, trying to find words that would make sense to four–year–olds without scaring them.

“Sometimes grown–ups have complicated problems,” I said carefully. “Mr. Maxwell and I have some grown–up disagreements, and until we figure them out, I want you both to stay away from him.”

They exchanged one of their silent twin communications, then nodded reluctantly.

“We promise, Mama,” Ethan said.

“But you have to explain it to us later,” Alexander added. “When we’re older and can understand the grown–up stuff.”

“I will,” I promised. “When you’re ready, I’ll explain everything.”

Throughout the day, I couldn’t shake the image of that silver sedan from my mind. I found myself checking my phone constantly, looking for messages from the school, expecting some kind of crisis.

By 2:30, my anxiety had reached a fever pitch. Pickup wasn’t until 3:00, but I couldn’t stand the waiting any longer.

I arrived at the school twenty minutes early, parking as close to the building as possible. The parking lot was mostly empty except for staff cars and a few other early parents who apparently shared my inability to wait patiently at home.

I walked quickly toward the main entrance, my heels clicking against the asphalt with staccato

urgency.

That’s when I saw them.

ย

Through the chain–link fence that enclosed the playground, I could see two small figures in familiar clothes standing near the swing set. Alexander in his blue dinosaur t–shirt and Ethan in his carefully matched green polo.

And with them, crouched down to their eye level in what appeared to be animated conversation, was

Kyle.

Maxwell.

Whatever he was calling himself today.

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