The Unwanted Wife and Her Secret Twins (Mia and Kyle) novel Chapter 444

Mia's POV

The apartment is quiet when we get home.

I unlock the door and Gas pushes past me first, her nails clicking on the hardwood in that urgent rhythm that means she's been holding it together all day and now she can finally relax. She heads straight for her water bowl and laps at it like she's been crossing a desert, water splashing onto the mat beneath.

"Shoes off," I remind the children.

Alexander is already kicking his off before the words are fully out of my mouth. They go flying—one hits the wall with a soft thud, the other lands somewhere near the couch—and he looks at me with that expression that's half innocent, half testing to see if I'll call him on it.

"Alexander."

"What?"

"Pick them up. Put them in the basket."

He sighs with his entire body, head dropping back, arms going limp at his sides, that dramatic five-year-old sigh that suggests I've asked him to climb Mount Everest in his socks, but he does it, shuffling over to retrieve both shoes and dropping them in the basket by the door with just enough force to make his point.

Ethan removes his shoes carefully, one hand braced against the wall for balance, and places them side by side in the basket with the kind of precision that makes me think he's going to grow up to be either an architect or someone with severe organizational issues.

Madison's Mary Janes have buckles. Her small fingers work at them slowly, fumbling with the tiny metal clasp, and I can see she's tired from the way she's moving, each gesture heavier than it should be, weighed down by a day that was beautiful but exhausting in the way that important days always are.

I kneel down. "Let me help."

I unbuckle the first shoe and then the second, and she steps out of them, her white tights showing a small hole near the toe that I make a mental note to replace, adding it to the list of small things that need attention.

"Bath time," I announce. "Boys first."

I run the bath, adding the bubble bath—the lavender kind—and it foams up quickly, turning the water cloudy white. Alexander climbs in and immediately starts making waves.

"Gently," I say. "The water needs to stay in the tub."

"I'm being a whale. Whales make big waves."

"Whales live in oceans. You live in an apartment. Different rules."

I wash him efficiently—his neck, behind his ears, his arms and back. He squirms but holds still enough. When he's clean, I wrap him in a towel and send him to his room for pajamas.

Then Ethan. He waits patiently, already undressed, sitting with perfect posture. His bath is easier because he doesn't make boat sounds or pretend to be marine animals.

"Mama?" he says sleepily. "Today was good. Madison being official."

"It was very good."

Then something shifts in his face, that look he gets when he's trying to work up to something important, and he props himself up on one elbow. "Mama? Can I ask you something?"

"Of course, baby."

"Are we going to move? To another apartment?"

I paused, "Why do you ask?"

"Because..." He scrunches up his face, thinking. "Because I know you are buliding a new house."

From Ethan's bed across the room: "She's an architect, not a house-builder. There's a difference."

"Same thing," Alexander insists.

I smile despite myself. "I do design houses. And actually..." I pause, choosing my words carefully, testing the waters. "I have built us a new house."