The Unwanted Wife and Her Secret Twins (Mia and Kyle) novel Chapter 405

Mia's POV

A real smile.

Then the scene shifts again, dissolving like watercolors bleeding into each other.

Blueprints. Design drawings. My hands moved across the paper with practiced confidence, the pencil an extension of my thoughts. Lines appeared—clean, precise, purposeful. Measurements materialized in neat annotations along the margins. The shape of a room took form beneath my fingertips, walls rising from the flat page into three-dimensional space in my mind's eye.

The living room flows into the kitchen with an open archway, no barriers to interrupt the sight lines. The kitchen opens to the garden through floor-to-ceiling glass doors that fold back completely in summer. In the garden there's—

The dream fractured.

I woke slowly, consciousness returning in layers. First came awareness of my body—heavy limbs, the slight crick in my neck from sleeping at an odd angle. Then sound—the distant hum of traffic, someone's muffled television through the walls. Then light—or the lack of it.

The room was dark.

I blinked, my eyes struggling to adjust.

Dark? But it had been afternoon when I lay down.

How long had I slept?

I fumbled blindly across my nightstand, my fingers knocking against the lamp base before finding my phone. The screen lit up, impossibly bright in the darkness, making me squint.

7:15 PM.

I stared at them. Then I sat up too fast. The room tilted sideways, my vision swimming with black spots that danced across my field of vision. I pressed my palm against my forehead, waiting for the dizziness to pass.

Gas lifted her head from where she'd been sleeping at the foot of my bed. Her ears perked forward, dark eyes reflecting the phone's glow. She looked rumpled and sleepy.

"I slept—" I calculated quickly, counting backward from the time I'd collapsed onto the bed. "I slept for nearly six hours?"

Gas yawned, her pink tongue curling, teeth gleaming white in the dimness. She stretched.

I swung my legs out of bed. They were heavy, numb with that pins-and-needles sensation that came from sleeping too long in one position. I stood carefully, testing my balance, then walked to the door on legs that felt like they belonged to someone else.

I eased the door open slowly, wincing at the soft creak of the hinges.

The living room was quiet.

Then I saw him.

Kyle was lying on the sofa, his long body curled awkwardly to fit the space that was at least six inches too short for him. His knees were drawn up slightly, one arm tucked beneath his head as a makeshift pillow, the other draped across his stomach. My old gray blanket was draped over him, the frayed edge trailing onto the floor.

He was asleep.

And the kids. Alexander was on the floor beside the couch, his small body pressed against the cushions as if seeking warmth. His head rested on one of the decorative pillows, his mouth slightly open, one hand curled into a loose fist near his face. His Superman shirt had ridden up, exposing a strip of pale belly.

Ethan lay beside him, curled into himself like a question mark. His dark hair fell across his forehead, and his breathing came in the deep, even rhythm of true sleep. His hand rested on Alexander's shoulder.

Madison occupied the space at Kyle's feet, her small body rolled into a tiny ball. She'd wedged herself into the narrow gap between Kyle's legs and the armrest.

They were all asleep.

All of them, arranged around Kyle like planets orbiting a dying star.

Streetlight filtered through the gaps in the curtains, casting everything in shades of amber and shadow. The orange glow painted stripes across their faces, highlighting the curve of a cheek here, the slope of a shoulder there.

I stood frozen in the doorway, my hand still on the doorknob, unable to move or look away.

This scene.

I moved closer, my bare feet silent on the hardwood floor.

"You're awake."

My mother's voice was barely above a whisper. I turned to find her emerging from the kitchen, a steaming cup of tea cradled in her hands. She'd changed into her comfortable clothes—soft pajama pants and one of my old sweatshirts that was too big for her.

"I slept—" I started, my voice rough.

"Six hours." She smiled gently, crossing the room to stand beside me. "I know. I checked on you a few times. But you were sleeping so deeply, so peacefully, that I couldn't bring myself to wake you. You needed it."

"The kids—" I gestured helplessly at the sleeping forms.

"They're fine." She took a sip of her tea, her eyes moving over the scene with a softness I recognized. The look she used to give me when I was little and had fallen asleep reading. "They played with Kyle all afternoon. He was wonderful with them, Mia. Really wonderful."

My throat tightened. "What did they do?"

"He told them stories. Helped Ethan with some kind of science experiment involving water density and floating eggs. Alexander made him play some elaborate pretend game where Kyle had to be an alien ambassador." She paused. "Madison showed him every single drawing she's made since moving in with us. "

I closed my eyes.

"About an hour ago," my mother continued, her voice dropping even lower, "he couldn't hold on anymore. He was sitting up, trying to stay awake, but I could see him fading. Finally, he just laid back on the couch and was asleep within seconds. The kids noticed right away."

"They didn't want to leave him." It wasn't a question.

"No. They climbed down from where they'd been playing and arranged themselves around him like you see now. Madison asked if Kyle was okay, if he was too tired. I told her he just needed rest. She nodded very seriously and said they should all be quiet so he could sleep properly."

A sound escaped my throat.

"Come," my mother said, touching my elbow gently. "Let them rest. You need something warm to drink."

I let her guide me to the kitchen, though I couldn't stop glancing back over my shoulder at the sleeping tableau in the living room.

The kitchen was warm, the overhead light dimmed to a soft glow. A teapot sat on the table beside two cups, steam curling from the spout in delicate spirals.

My mother poured tea into both cups, the amber liquid splashing gently against the ceramic. She slid one across to me, and I wrapped my hands around it, grateful for the warmth seeping into my palms.

"Did the kids eat dinner?" I asked.

"Kyle ordered takeout. Pizza and chicken nuggets. Exactly what the kids wanted, of course."

I sighed, "He shouldn't let them eat whatever they want. They'll think—"

"Mia."

I looked up at her.

"Let him spoil them." Her voice was gentle but firm, "They'll remember this, you know. They'll remember that their father made them happy."

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