The Unwanted Wife and Her Secret Twins (Mia and Kyle) novel Chapter 459

Mia's POV

Alexander's voice echoes from somewhere upstairs. "THERE'S A CLOSET UNDER THE STAIRS!"

His footsteps thunder across the ceiling. Then Ethan's voice, quieter, more measured: "That's not under the stairs. We're on the second floor. There are no stairs above us."

"It's a SECRET closet then!"

"Alexander, all closets are 'secret' until you open them. That's just how closets work."

I'm still standing in the living room. Kyle is still at the kitchen counter. His hand has moved from the grout lines to the edge of the sink. Stainless steel. Undermount. Deep basin. I'd specified the gauge of the steel. Eighteen gauge. Heavy duty.

Madison tugs my hand again. "Mama, can I go upstairs?"

"Of course. Be careful on the stairs."

"I will."

She lets go and walks toward the staircase. Her steps are careful. Deliberate. One hand trailing along the wall as she climbs.

The stairs are hardwood with a simple black metal railing. No carpeting. I'd wanted to be able to hear the children moving through the house. Wanted to know where they were by the sound of their feet.

More thumping from above. A door opening. Alexander's delighted shriek.

"THERE'S ANOTHER ROOM! ETHAN! THERE'S ANOTHER ROOM!"

"That's called a bedroom, Alexander. Houses typically have multiple bedrooms."

"But this one has WINDOWS on TWO WALLS!"

I can picture it. The corner bedroom. East and south facing. Morning light and afternoon light. I'd designed it specifically for one of the boys. Hadn't decided which one yet.

Kyle moves away from the sink. He's walking toward the sliding glass doors that lead to the backyard. His reflection moves across the glass, then through it as he steps outside onto the deck.

I should follow him. Should explain the deck. The way it's positioned to catch the evening sun. The built-in planters I'd specified for herbs. Madison could help me grow basil. Alexander would probably try to taste the dirt.

But I stay where I am.

The house feels enormous with just me in it. All this space I designed. All these empty rooms waiting to be filled.

From upstairs: "I FOUND SOMETHING!"

Alexander's voice. Triumphant.

Then footsteps. Fast ones. Coming down the stairs.

He appears at the top, his arms full of something. Paper. Folders. His face is lit up like Christmas morning.

"Mama! MAMA! Look what I found!"

He's taking the stairs too fast. Two at a time. I can see it happening before it happens. His foot catching. His arms too full to grab the railing.

"Alexander, slow—"

He doesn't fall. Catches himself on the last three steps. Lands at the bottom with a jump that makes the papers in his arms fly up slightly before settling.

"Look!" He thrusts the pile toward me. "There's a whole CLOSET full of stuff! Paper and books and—"

Ethan appears at the top of the stairs, carrying more carefully. A stack of notebooks. Some loose papers. Madison behind him with a single folder pressed against her chest.

My stomach drops.

I know those papers. I know those notebooks.

"We found your office supplies!" Alexander announces. "Or like—old office supplies? They were in boxes in the closet. The one in the back bedroom. The one that's supposed to be YOUR office, right? That's what the contractor guy wrote on the door. 'Office.' So we figured—"

He's holding them out to me. Expecting me to take them. To be pleased.

I can see the corner of one notebook. The cover is faded blue. Water-stained. The spiral binding is bent.

That's from sophomore year. Fall semester. The semester I sat behind Kyle in European History and spent forty-five minutes every Monday, Wednesday, Friday pretending to take notes while actually drawing the back of his head.

"That's—" My voice doesn't work right. I clear my throat. Try again. "That's just old work stuff. Just—you can put those back."

"But they're yours!" Alexander insists. "They have your name on them! Look—"

He flips open the top folder. Inside are loose sketches. Architectural drawings. Floor plans. And yes, my name in the corner of each one. Mia Williams. The handwriting young and careful.

"See?" Alexander says. "Yours."

Ethan is coming down the stairs now. Slower than Alexander. More careful. But he's looking at the notebooks in his arms with that focused intensity he gets when something has caught his interest.

"Some of these are very old," he observes. "The paper has yellowed. And this one—" He holds up a sketchbook. Dark red cover. "This one has a date. 2011."

My junior year of high school.

The year I learned how to draw hands.

Specifically, how to draw Kyle's hands.

"Why not?" This from Ethan. Reasonable. Logical. "If they're architectural drawings, shouldn't we be able to see them? You're an architect. This is your work. It would be educational for us to—"

"Ethan." I cut him off. "No."

Madison closes the folder carefully. Sets it aside. She doesn't argue. Just accepts my answer.

But Alexander is stubborn. "What's in there that we can't see?"

"Nothing. It's just—"

"Then why can't we look?"

"Because I said so."

"That's not a real reason."

"It's the only reason you're getting."

The sliding door opens behind me. Kyle steps back inside. His shoes make soft sounds on the floor as he crosses toward us.

He takes in the scene immediately. The papers scattered on the floor. The children clustered around them. The notebooks still in Ethan's hands. Me standing over all of it with my arms crossed and my face probably showing everything I'm trying to hide.

"What's going on?" His voice is neutral. Careful.

"We found Mama's old drawings!" Alexander announces. "But she won't let us look at them!"

Kyle's eyes find mine. Hold. Something shifts in his expression. Interest. Amusement, maybe.

"Won't she?" he says.

There's something in his tone. Something challenging.

He moves closer. Slow. Deliberate. His eyes never leaving mine.

"Why won't you let them look, Mia?"

"They're private."

"Private." He repeats the word like he's testing it. "Architectural drawings are private?"

"Old ones. Yes."

"Hm." He reaches down.