Forced Marriage: My Wife, My Redemption novel Chapter 422

Chapter 422: Damian and Jasmine

Seeing her settled down with the children in her arms, Davis sighed with quiet relief.

He glanced briefly at the women who stood some distance away, lingering in silence. "Don’t worry about them," he said softly, his gaze sliding back to the little trio before him. "She might want to spend some time with them."

His eyes warmed as he stepped closer. "Do you mind if I help you carry one of them?"

Jessica’s gaze swept over the two babies, their distinct features that marked them apart from the other tugged at her heart.

With their unfocused gaze fixed on her face as though to see her, her chest tightened, and she shook her head in refusal, hugging them closer.

"I have missed them a lot," she admitted, her voice catching. "Though I never knew they were the reason...I felt lost." Her voice cracked but as she watched their tiny hands wriggle against the blankets, a soft smile played on her lips.

Davis shook his head. "Don’t you think I have also missed and neglected them myself?" his tone was soft and remorseful.

The days he spent at the hospital beside her had left him with just a minimal opportunity to be with them or even to hold them properly in his arms. 𝕗𝐫𝐞𝕖𝕨𝐞𝗯𝚗𝕠𝘃𝐞𝚕.𝐜𝗼𝚖

When they were in the NICU, he visited them at intervals and spoke to them. At some point, they had became his only confidants, his silent comfort, his little "garbage bag" for everything he couldn’t say aloud.

He would spend the brief moment he had with them telling them how much their mother loved them.

How unbearable and painful it was to see her lying in the ICU fighting for her life.

Yet he was powerless and couldn’t do anything to save her.

At other times, words failed him, and he would simply stand there, watching the fragile rise and fall of their tiny chests while his tears slid silently down his face.

Those visits had always been riddled with pain, frustration, and helplessness.

In the shadow of his despair, he had rarely paused to appreciate them, to truly see them as God’s gift, to see them as two miracles accompanying him in his wait while clinging to the hope of another.

He never had the chance to bother about what they look like or to appreciate them as God’s gift in his moment of waiting for a miracle.

He had always placed their mother above them, not like he would change that now

After their discharge and return home, his time with them had only shrunk further becoming less and less as the days passed by.

His days slowly blurred into a routine; arriving from the hospital at seven, slipping into the nursery to spend thirty minutes with them, then rushing through his bath and dressing in ten minutes.

By the time he was ready, Deborah would be waiting at the door with his breakfast packed in a thermo, and soon after, he would be gone again, not returning until the same hour the next day.

At some point, the babies seemed to adapt to his rhythm and their timing adjusted to his time.

Whenever he comes in, he would find them awake wriggling their tiny hands, and their familiar soft coo sound as though they were greeting him with a tender "good morning."

Now, standing here and with a glance backwards, Davis felt a sharp ache in his chest.

He had failed them, failed to truly be present for them. Failed to appreciate them for being strong. The guilt pressed heavier than ever, and he silently vowed to make it up to them.

Jessica’s gentle voice broke through his storm of thoughts. "No matter what, you have spent more time with them than I did." She smirked faintly, though her eyes shone with sadness.

Davis exhaled deeply and pulled a rocking chair closer, lowering himself beside her. His gaze softened as it settled on the two little dumplings nestled against her bosom. He silently and reverently traced every feature of their small faces.

The boy, wrapped halfway up to his tummy, bore every imprint of his father; deep eyes, a straight nose, sharp jawline, and a startlingly cold expression, as if the world owed him something already.

The baby girl was in no way less striking. She was her mother’s mirror, a replica of Jessica...onyx eyes flecked with honey, ebony hair though still curled due to age, and the same delicate warmth.

It would be far easier to say they had been carved from the same mold.

"Babe, let me hold her," Davis murmured after a quiet stretch of time.

Jessica arched a brow. "Why ask for her? Shouldn’t you be more worried about your heir?"

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