The Unwanted Wife and Her Secret Twins (Mia and Kyle) novel Chapter 320

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Chapter 320 Mom’s throat hurts

Mia’s POV

I opened my mouth to speak, but found my throat completely closed, blocked by words that were too thick and swollen to come out. The air between us felt viscous, like trying to breathe underwater.

Thomas still clutched the wilted rose, its thorns stained with blood mingled with the withered petals. The evening sunlight caught the tear stains on his cheeks, making them glisten with a silver glow that reminded me of rain on pavement.

I reached out instinctively. My fingertips brushed against the sharp contours of his jawline, gently tracing the familiar geography of his face. His skin was warm and slightly rough, like worn leather. He closed his eyes and leaned into the palm of my hand, as if thirstily craving touch, and I could feel the tremor running through him.

“Thomas,” I whispered, but my voice was hoarse and broken.

He opened his eyes. They were the color of sea glass, clouded with something that looked like drowning.

“I have to go,” I managed to say.

I suddenly stood up, my legs unsteady beneath me.

Thomas hurriedly stood up, and the roses fell to the ground with a soft whisper, white petals scattering across the concrete like snow in summer.

“Mia, please.”

“I need time.”

I turned toward the front door, my hand fumbling for the doorknob. The brass was cool under my

palm.

“I’ll call you,” he said softly, and his voice carried the particular quality of someone trying not to

shatter.

I shook my head without turning around. “Later.”

Inside the house, my mother looked up from her book. The twins were still asleep, Alexander’s tiny fist pressed against his cheek, Ethan’s mouth slightly open, breathing the particular rhythm of deep childhood sleep.

“How are you, dear?” Mom’s voice was careful, the way people speak in hospitals.

I shook my head, unable to speak. The swelling in my throat grew worse.

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Chapter 320 Mom’s throat hurts

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“Oh, dear.” Mom put down the book, something about Victorian gardens that seemed absurdly peaceful now, she stood up, and carefully avoided waking the children. She wrapped her arms. around me,

and I melted into her embrace like a five–year–old child, like someone who had never learned to hold herself upright.

“Everything hurts so much,” I whispered softly into her shoulder. Her cardigan smelled like lavender and safety.

“I know, sweetheart. I know.”

We stood in the living room, swaying slightly, the children still asleep, my life rearranging itself like furniture in an earthquake. Outside, I could hear the distant sound of traffic, people moving through

their normal lives.

The next morning, my throat hurt even more. It was red and swollen, as if I had been crying for hours, which I suppose I had. I could barely swallow my coffee, the liquid burning as it went down. When Alexander asked me why I sounded strange, I could only write the answer on a napkin with shaking hands.

Mom’s throat hurts.

“Is it because you were crying?” Alexander asked with the blunt honesty of a four–year–old, his small face serious with concern.

I nodded, not trusting my voice.

Then Alexander climbed onto my lap, and Ethan curled up beside me. They didn’t ask any more questions, just pressed their warm little bodies tightly against me, like human bandages. Their hair smelled like sleep and the particular sweetness of children’s shampoo.

Mother arrived around ten o’clock with bags of groceries and a thermos of honey tea that steamed like a small prayer.

“You look terrible,” she said cheerfully, kissing my forehead with lips that felt cool against my fevered skin. “Go back to bed. I’ll watch the children.”

But I couldn’t sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Thomas’s face crumpling like paper. Or Kyle’s distorted features in the hospital. Or Catherine’s empty house with the curtains drawn like closed eyelids. Sleep felt impossible, like trying to rest in a house where all the walls were falling down.

At noon, my mother knocked on my bedroom door with the particular gentle insistence that meant she wasn’t taking no for an answer.

“Darling? There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

I stumbled to the door, still in yesterday’s clothes, my hair a disaster zone. In the living room stood a

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Chapter 320 Mom’s throat hurts

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man I’d never seen before–tall, with silver hair and the kind of face that suggested both intelligence and kindness. He wore a navy sweater that looked expensive but comfortable, and his hands when he shook mine were steady and warm.

“This is Hugo,” my mother said, and there was something in her voice I hadn’t heard in years. Something light and nervous and pleased. “Dr. Hugo Byrne.”

“Hugo?” The name caught my attention.

“Nice to meet you, Mia,” he said with a smile that reached his eyes. “I’m a cardiologist at Mount

Sinai.”

Mount Sinai.

“Hugo’s been… we’ve been seeing each other for a few months now,” my mother continued, and I could see the faint blush coloring her cheeks. “I wanted you to meet him properly, but given how you’re feeling…”

“I told your mother I’d be happy to take a look at your throat,” Hugo said gently. “If you’re

comfortable with that.”

I nodded.

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