The Unwanted Wife and Her Secret Twins (Mia and Kyle) novel Chapter 311

Chapter 311 Trust Documentation

Mia’s POV

I stared at the newspaper in Alexander’s small hands, the word “obituary” printed in stark black letters across the top of the page.

“Where did you see this word, dear?” I asked, setting down my mug.

“Right here,” Alexander pointed to the headline with his index finger, already sticky from syrup. A small fingerprint smudged the black ink. “What does it mean?”

I leaned closer to examine the page he was holding. The local obituary section stretched across two pages, filled with small black and white photographs of recently deceased individuals alongside carefully crafted summaries attempting to capture entire lifetimes in a few paragraphs.

“This is the section of the newspaper that tells people when someone has passed away,” I said slowly, selecting each word like stepping stones across a rushing stream. “When people die, their family members write stories about their lives so that others can remember them and know what kind of person they were.”

Ethan looked up from his methodical arrangement of scrambled eggs. “Are we reading about dead people?” he asked. “When people die, others go to church together and feel sad. Like when Mrs. Patterson’s husband died and everyone brought her casseroles.”

“Yes,” I nodded, remembering our elderly neighbor’s loss the previous year and how the boys had helped me prepare a sympathy card. “People miss their friends and family members who have passed away. They gather together to share memories and comfort each other during difficult times.”

Alexander seemed to contemplate this information while studying the photographs more intently, his small finger tracing the edges of faces frozen in time. “Mom, yesterday at the park I saw a butterfly. It was orange and black with white spots, and it landed on that yellow flower near the big slide. Then it just stopped moving and fell to the ground. Its wings weren’t fluttering anymore. Did it die?”

“It’s possible, sweetie,” I said softly, thinking about the natural cycle of life and death that seemed so much more acceptable. “Sometimes butterflies reach the end of their lives naturally. They live beautiful, full lives, even though they’re much shorter than human lives.”

Alexander nodded. He returned his attention to the obituary page, his finger following lines of text he couldn’t yet read but seemed determined to decode through sheer force of will.

“This person was ninety–three years old,” he announced with the satisfaction of successfully interpreting the numbers. “That’s really, really old. Older than Grandma.”

“Very old,” I agreed, though my voice sounded distant and hollow to my own ears, as if I were

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Chapter 311 Trust Documentation

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speaking from the bottom of a well.

“Will you be in the newspaper when you die?” Alexander asked.

“Hopefully not for a very, very long time,” I said. “Let’s look at a different section. What does the weather forecast say for today?”

But Alexander wasn’t ready to abandon his exploration. His small hands carefully turned the page, revealing more photographs and more stories of lives that had ended. “This woman had five children and twelve grandchildren,” he read slowly, pointing to a longer obituary featuring a larger photograph of an elderly woman surrounded by multiple generations of family. “That’s a really big family.”

“Very big,” Ethan agreed, setting down his fork. “We only have each other and Mom and Grandma.”

“Will Grandma die?” Alexander asked.

I felt my breath catch in my throat. “Everyone dies eventually, sweetie. That’s part of how life works. But most people live for a long, long time before that happens, especially when they’re healthy and taking good care of themselves.”

“Grandma is only sixty–four,” Ethan said. “People don’t usually die when they’re sixty–four, do they, Mom?”

“Most of the time, no,” I said carefully, aware that I was walking through a conversational minefield. “Because at that age, our bodies are usually still healthy and strong. But sometimes there are accidents, or people get very sick with illnesses that doctors can’t fix.”

A terrible thought just came up in my mind.

Catherine’s birthday was in November. And she still did not reply me.

“Mom?”

“I’m fine, sweetheart,” I lied. “Just thinking about someone I haven’t talked to in a long time. Someone I should probably check on.”

“Are you thinking about dead people too?” Alexander asked.

“I’m thinking about someone who might need help,” I said.

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