The Unwanted Wife and Her Secret Twins (Mia and Kyle) novel Chapter 297

Chapter 297 Mum, are you alcohol poisoned?

Chapter 297 Mum, are you alcohol poisoned?

Mia’s POV

I woke up with the distinct feeling that something was watching me.

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My head felt like it had been stuffed with cotton and then hammered by a construction crew. Every muscle in my body ached, and my mouth tasted like I’d been chewing on gym socks.

When I finally managed to pry my eyes open, I found Ethan and Alexander staring at me from the head of my bed.

Both boys had their little brows furrowed. They were sitting cross–legged on my comforter.

Ethan leaned closer to me, his dark eyes studying my face with the intensity of a tiny doctor. “Mum, are you alcohol poisoned?”

Alexander clearly agreed with his brother’s assessment, nodding solemnly. “You smell funny. Like the bottles grandma hides in the back of the cabinet.”

Their four little hands were gripping mine tightly, their small fingers warm and slightly sticky in that way children’s hands always seemed to be. Even Gas was there, panting nervously at the foot of the bed, apparently disliking the whiskey smell wafting from my general direction.

“Where did you hear that word?” I croaked, my voice coming out like sandpaper scraping against concrete.

“On TV,” Ethan explained matter–of–factly. “They said people with alcohol poisoning give off a strange smell, and Gas has been sniffing you for like ten minutes. Plus, we called you for a long time, and you didn’t wake up.‘

“We even put your phone right next to your ear when it was ringing, but you just made weird noises.” Alexander added.

When a woman becomes a mother, she has the right to vent, but only at the right time.

I struggled to sit up, my head spinning.

“Aren’t you supposed to be at kindergarten?” I asked, trying to steer the conversation away from alcohol poisoning and my apparent inability to handle my liquor like a functional adult. “Ethan and Alexander?”

“Because we care about you,” they said in unison. “So we couldn’t go there.”

“Thank you for your concern, sons,” I said. “But I’ll still take you to kindergarten later.”

I reached for the water bottle on my nightstand and checked my phone, squinting at the bright screen that felt like staring directly into the sun. It was already past nine in the morning. The email said Kyle’s foundation had transferred money to the twins‘ account.

This had been a tradition for over four years. Every month, without fail, a substantial sum would appear in the education fund I’d set up for Alexander and Ethan. I’d always assumed it was automated, some kind of legal obligation from Kyle’s estate or his company’s lawyers ensuring the children were provided for.

But not today. Now that I knew Maxwell’s account.

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Chapter 297 Mum, are you alcohol poisoned?

1 immediately transferred the money back.

Every penny of it.

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My fingers moved quickly across the phone screen, typing out the wire transfer details. If Kyle wanted to play dead, then he could keep his money too.

“Mama, what are you doing?” Ethan peered at my phone screen with curiosity.

“Just handling some boring adult financial stuff,” I said, hitting the final confirmation button with more satisfaction than was probably healthy.

Alexander climbed over to my side of the bed, his small body radiating warmth as he settled against my arm. Are we poor now?”

“We’re not poor, sweetheart. We have everything we need.”

“But what if we need extra things?” Ethan asked with the practical concerns of a child who’d clearly been thinking about this.

“Then Mama will work harder and earn more money. That’s what grown–ups do.”

Both boys seemed satisfied with this explanation.

FT

I forced myself out of bed, my legs unsteady but functional. “Alright, gentlemen. Let’s get you ready for school.”

“But Mama,” Alexander protested, “you look like you might fall down.”

“I’m not going to fall down,” I said.

I bundled the twins into the car, grateful that they’d dressed themselves in mostly matching clothes without my

assistance.

Alexander had managed to put his shirt on inside out, but at least it was clean.

“Mama, drive slow,” Ethan instructed from his car seat. “People with hangovers shouldn’t drive fast because their reflexes are impaired.”

“Where are you learning these things?” I asked, checking my mirrors and pulling carefully out of our parking

space.

“The Discovery Channel,” Alexander replied proudly. “And also G****e. Ethan likes to research things.”

“Maybe we should limit your research topics to age–appropriate subjects.”

“But knowledge is power,” Ethan quoted solemnly.

When we finally arrived, we were over half an hour late. The parking lot was nearly empty, with only a few cars belonging to the staff and maybe one or two other parents dealing with their own morning disasters.

I hurried the boys toward the entrance, my head still pounding.

Mrs. Rodriguez met us at the door with the patient smile of someone who’d seen every possible variation of

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Chapter 297 Mum, are you alcohol poisoned?

morning chaos.

“Good morning, Williams family,” she said gently. “Running a little behind today?”

“More than a little,” I admitted. “I’m so sorry. We had a… complicated morning.”

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“It happens to the best of us,” she assured me, but then her expression grew slightly apologetic. “However, I’m afraid we can’t admit the children to class this late. It disrupts the morning routine and the other students‘ learning time.”

“Oh. Of course. I understand.”

“But,” she continued with a kind smile, “you’re welcome to take them to the library or the playground until lunch. Then they can join us for the afternoon activities.”

Alexander tugged on my hand. “Mama, can we go to the playground? I want to show Ethan the really tall slide.”

“The one that looks structurally unsound?” Ethan asked with interest.

“That’s the one!”

So we were in a hurry for nothing. But maybe this was better.

We walked through the school’s administrative area toward the playground, I noticed something that I didn’t notice before.

A brass plaque mounted on the wall near the principal’s office.

“A Maxwell Foundation Educational Initiative”

I stopped walking so abruptly that Alexander bumped into the back of my legs.

“Mama, why did you stop?” he asked, following my gaze to the plaque.

I stared at those words. So, this kindergarten is owned by the Maxwell family. That’s why boys saw Mr. Maxwell’s picture in our curriculum.

I felt sick. Genuinely, physically sick in a way that had nothing to do with my hangover.

Kyle really was everywhere.

“Let’s go to the playground,” I said finally, forcing my voice to sound normal and maternal instead of seething with barely controlled rage.