The Unwanted Wife and Her Secret Twins (Mia and Kyle) novel Chapter 419

Mia‘s POV

I walked toward the terrace doors, and the crowd parted before me like water around a stone. A few people had that particular look, that said they'd witnessed the entire pool incident and were already composing the story they'd tell at brunch tomorrow.

But I found I didn't care.

The terrace was quieter than the pavilion, and the air felt cooler against my damp skin. The music was still audible through the glass doors.

Kyle stood at the railing with his back turned to me. He'd changed into dry clothes—a dark shirt that hung on his frame, outlining the angles of his shoulders. His hair was still damp, pushed back from his face in a way that looked hasty. A few drops of water still clung to the ends, catching the lamplight when he moved, creating small points of brightness that seemed almost fragile against the darkness beyond the terrace.

He didn't turn around when I approached, but I watched his shoulders tense.

"Kyle," I said.

He turned slowly.

His face was exhausted.

His eyes found mine and held them there, steady despite everything.

The space between us felt enormous, like an ocean I'd have to cross. But at the same time it felt too small, as though we were standing closer than physics should allow.

I walked closer to him, measuring each step, until I stopped about a foot away. The distance was close enough that I could see his face properly—could count the water droplets still clinging to his eyelashes, could see the way his chest rose and fell with each careful breath. But it was still far enough that we weren't touching, that there was still air between us, still that crucial separation.

"You look like shit," I said.

His mouth twitched in a way that might have been the beginning of a smile if he'd had the energy to finish it. "You look better than you did ten minutes ago."

"That's a low bar."

"It's still true."

I held up my hand and opened my palm slowly, deliberately. The rings sat there in the center, catching the light from the terrace lamps and throwing back small glints of gold that seemed almost alive.

"Why do you have these?" I asked.

"You know why."

"No. I don't." I stared at the rings as I spoke, unable to meet his eyes just yet. "I threw my ring away. Five years ago. I threw it out the window into the backyard of our house. It should be gone. Lost. Buried in grass somewhere, or carried away by some bird to line its nest."

"I found it."

"When?"

"The next morning. Before you woke up."

My breath caught in my throat, trapped there like something with wings.

"I found it by the fence. Near the roses."

"Why?"

"Because you threw it away."

"So?"

"So I just found it."

"That doesn't make sense," I said.

"It does to me."

I looked at the rings again, studying the way they reflected light, noticing the familiar scratches and dents that had accumulated over the years we'd worn them—little histories etched into the gold.

"And yours?" I asked. "Why do you still have yours?"

"Same reason."

"That's not an answer."

His jaw tightened in that way it did when he was holding something back. "It's the only answer I have."

"Kyle—"

"I kept them because I couldn't throw them away." The words came out in a rush now, as though he'd been holding them in for too long. "Because even when we were divorced. Even when you hated me. I couldn't let go of the only physical proof that we were ever married. Is that what you want to hear?"

His voice had gotten quieter as he spoke, and rougher, like gravel under bare feet.

I closed my hand around the rings, feeling the metal warming against my palm, absorbing the heat from my skin.

"This is insane," I said.

"Probably."

I felt the tears start before I could stop them.

The tears were running down my face now, hot against my cold skin. When had I started crying? I couldn't remember.

"You're an idiot," I said.

"I know."

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