The Unwanted Wife and Her Secret Twins (Mia and Kyle) novel Chapter 362

Chapter 362 A celebration meal

Chapter 362 A celebration meal

Mia’s POV

Women’s friendships were so simple, after all.

“The problem with most people,” Scarlett was saying, examining Sophie’s handbag with the reverence usually reserved for religious artifacts, “is that they think luxury is about price tags. But real luxury is about understanding quality.”

“Exactly!” Sophie’s eyes lit up. “This bag, for instance–people see Hermès and think ‘expensive.‘ But what they don’t see is the hundred and eight individual stitches, the way the leather was aged for eighteen months, the fact that only three craftsmen in all of France are qualified to attach the hardware.”

Scarlett traced the edge of Sophie’s handbag with one finger. “The craftsmanship is extraordinary. And this color–is it Rose Sakura?”

“Rose Confetti,” Sophie corrected gently. “From the 2019 limited collection. They only made forty- seven bags in this shade.”

“Of course you would own one of forty–seven,” Scarlett said. “I have a Kelly in Vert Bambou that I bought at auction last year. Took me eight months of stalking estate sales to find one in decent condition.”

“Vert Bambou!” Sophie clapped her hands together like a delighted child. “That’s one of my favorite shades. So unexpected with red hair–most people would assume it would clash, but with your complexion it would be stunning.”

And off they went.I listened to names I’d never heard dropped with the casual familiarity of old

friends.

“The thing about Virginie Viard,” Scarlett was saying, “is that she understands Chanel’s DNA without being trapped by it. She’s not trying to be Karl, she’s not trying to be Coco–she’s being herself while honoring the legacy.”

“Yes!” Sophie leaned forward. “People expect her to revolutionize everything, but evolution is more powerful than revolution. The subtle changes she’s made to the silhouettes, the way she’s incorporating modern sustainable practices without compromising the aesthetic–it’s masterful.”

I felt like an anthropologist observing a fascinating cultural ritual.

“I should probably go check on the children,” I said, standing from my chair with the particular stiffness that came from sitting in hospital furniture too long.

Both women looked up at me with identical expressions of mild surprise, as if they’d forgotten I was

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Chapter 362 A celebration mec

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there

“Of course, ma chère,” Sophie said warmly. “We’ll be right here.”

“Take your time,” Scarlett added, then immediately turned back to Sophie. “Now, you mentioned you have a chateau in Provence–please tell me you’ve discovered some local artisans who work with traditional techniques…”

I slipped out of the room, leaving them to their fashion symposium.

The children weren’t hard to find. I spotted them first as three small figures pressed against the window of a patient room, their faces creating small fog patches on the glass as they peered inside with the intense concentration they usually reserved for particularly fascinating insects or elaborate Lego constructions.

Alexander noticed me first, as he always did.

“Mama!” he whispered loudly. “Look, Daddy is sleeping!”

I approached them carefully, noting the telltale traces of chocolate around all three mouths–dark smudges that suggested Sophie’s Belgian confections had been thoroughly investigated and appreciated.

“Has he been asleep long?” I asked, settling beside them to peer through the window.

Kyle lay in the narrow hospital bed, his face turned toward the wall, one arm trailing over the side with the particular limpness that suggested medicated sleep. The monitors beside his bed beeped with steady, reassuring rhythms, and I could see the gentle rise and fall of his chest beneath the thin hospital blanket.

“The whole time,” Ethan said quietly. “We came to say thank you for saving us, but the nurse said

he’s very tired and needs to rest.‘

Madison pressed her small hand against the glass, her breath creating another fog patch that she absent–mindedly drew a heart in with her finger. “He looks peaceful,“.

“He does,” I agreed, studying Kyle’s sleeping face. The harsh lines of pain and exhaustion had smoothed out, leaving behind something that looked almost young. “His body worked very hard yesterday, taking care of all of you. Now it needs time to recover.”

“Like when I had my fever?” Alexander asked.

“Yes. Sometimes our bodies need extra sleep to heal properly.”

Alexander nodded with the satisfied air of someone who understood important medical information, then pressed his nose against the glass again. “Can we leave him a picture? So he knows we were here?”

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“That’s a lovely idea,” I said. “Madison, would you like to draw something for Kyle?”

Madison’s face lit up with quiet pleasure. She was already reaching into her backpack, pulling out the expensive art supplies Sophie had given her with the careful reverence they deserved.

“I’ll draw all of us,” she decided, settling cross–legged on the hallway floor with the kind of focus that meant she was planning something important. “With Gas too, because he helped save us.”

Alexander and Ethan flanked her on either side, offering artistic advice and color suggestions with the generous enthusiasm of children who believed all creative endeavors should be collaborative

efforts.

“Mama,” Ethan said without looking up from Madison’s painting, “is Kyle going to get better?”

The question hung in the air like morning mist, delicate and impossible to grasp. I found myself studying the steady rise and fall of Kyle’s chest through the window, looking for answers in the rhythm of his breathing.

“I don’t know, sweetheart,” I said finally. “His doctors are working very hard to help him feel better.

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“But sometimes doctors can’t fix everything,” Alexander said matter–of–factly, his small fingers still carefully arranging paintbrushes. “Like with Madison’s daddy.”

Madison’s hand paused in her painting for just a moment before continuing. “But sometimes they can,” she said quietly. “And sometimes people get better even when doctors don’t think they will.”

“Like miracles?” Alexander asked.

“Like miracles,” Madison confirmed, adding a careful stroke of blue to what was clearly Gas’s collar in her painting.

I felt tears threatening behind my eyes.

“There,” Madison said finally, sitting back to survey her completed artwork. “It’s all of us together.”

The painting was beautiful in the way that children’s art could be–not technically perfect, but emotionally true. Five figures stood in a row holding hands, their faces bright with simple joy. Gas sat loyally at their feet, his tongue hanging out in perpetual happiness. Above them, Madison had painted a sun with radiating yellow beams that seemed to warm the entire composition.

“Kyle is going to love this,” I said, and meant it.

“Should we tape it to his door?” Alexander asked.

“Let’s give it to the nurse,” I suggested. “She can make sure Kyle sees it when he wakes up.”

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