The Unwanted Wife and Her Secret Twins (Mia and Kyle) novel Chapter 310

Chapter 310 0–B–1–T–U–A–R–Y

Mia’s POV

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For a moment, my mind went blank, and I could only stare at my son’s face in the dim light.

Strangely, a sharp, stabbing pain suddenly pierced my chest, as if someone had reached into my ribs. and twisted something.

“Ethan, did you hear something?” I managed to say.

“No, Mom, it’s okay, Mom,” he said softly, reaching out his small hand to gently pat mine. “If you don’t want me to tell Alexander, I won’t. But I figured it out because he has the same eyes as us, and he knows things that strangers usually don’t know.”

My throat felt like it was closing up.

“When did you figure it out?” I whispered.

“I started thinking about it after what happened at the park,” Ethan said calmly. “When you got so angry at him today, your eyes looked hurt.”

Four years old. My son is only four years old.

“Ethan,” I started, then stopped, unsure how to continue the conversation.

“I can tell you’re sad, Mom,” Ethan said.

I held him tightly.

“Yes,” I finally said. “Yes, he’s your father.”

Ethan nodded. “Did he hurt you, Mom?”

My heart shattered.

“It’s complicated, sweetheart,” I said, reaching out to stroke his soft hair. “But I promise you, it has nothing to do with either of you.”

“Mom, if he hurt you, he’s not my dad anymore,” Ethan said.

What did I do? I had put my children through something they shouldn’t have to endure.

“No, Ethan, this isn’t something you should worry about. I’m sorry. Mom will take care of this.”

“Will

you

tell Alexander?” he asked.

“Not yet,” I finally said. “Let me figure this out first, okay? Can you keep this a secret for now?”

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Ethan nodded seriously.

He leaned back against the pillow, his eyes finally growing heavy.

“Mom?” he whispered as I leaned down to kiss his forehead.

“Yes, dear?”

“I love you. I also love Alexander, and we’re still a good family, right?”

The tears I’d been holding back finally broke free, streaming down my cheeks as I pressed my lips to

his forehead.

“We are the best family,” I whispered in his ear, “no matter what happens, no matter who comes or goes, you, Alexander, and I will always be a family. That’s a promise.”

“Okay,” Ethan murmured, his voice already sleepy. “I love our family, just the way it is.”

After both boys had fallen asleep, I sat in the chair between their beds for a long time, gazing at their peaceful faces illuminated by the nightlight.

The weight of Ethan’s question pressed down on my chest like a stone. How had my four–year–old son managed to piece together what I’d been desperately trying to hide?

Children saw things adults missed, unclouded by the complications of history and hurt.

I watched their chests rise and fall with the steady rhythm of deep sleep. Little faces were relaxed, one small fist curled.

I kissed their foreheads again and tidied up the blankets, taking care not to disturb their sleep. Alexander’s pajamas had ridden up around his waist, and I gently tugged them back down. Ethan had somehow managed to cocoon himself completely in his covers, only the top of his dark hair

visible.

These were my boys. I had raised them from infancy, through sleepless nights and teething pain and first words and first steps.

After a quick wash, I returned to the boys‘ room. They were still asleep. I hugged them and curled up under the blanket, losing consciousness.

The familiar scent of their room–a combination of the lavender fabric softener I used on their sheets, the faint vanilla from their nighttime lotion, and that indefinable smell that was purely theirs —surrounded me. This was my home.

I woke up early the next morning. I hadn’t dreamed at all the night before.

The apartment was still dark, the early morning light just beginning to filter through the boys‘

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bedroom curtains. I stretched carefully, trying not to make any noise that would wake the twins.

Alexander was sprawled across his bed, one leg hanging off the edge, his mouth slightly open. Ethan lay on his back with his arms neatly at his sides, like a tiny soldier at attention.

I prepared breakfast, and Ethan and Alexander were already getting ready to wash up.

“Good morning, my early birds,” I said, beginning to crack eggs for scrambled eggs and starting the

coffee maker.

Alexander appeared. He climbed onto his usual stool at the counter and rubbed his eyes.

“Morning, Mama,” he said, his voice still thick with sleep. “Can we have the triangular toast again?”

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