The Unwanted Wife and Her Secret Twins (Mia and Kyle) novel Chapter 496

Mia's POV

The restaurant was warm and loud and smelled like French fries.

Alexander had ketchup on his chin. On his shirt. Somehow on his forehead. Ethan was methodically finishing his chicken nuggets in a precise pattern—largest to smallest. Madison had eaten half a grilled cheese and declared herself "so full I might explode."

They were tired. I could see it in the way Alexander's movements were slowing down, the way Ethan's blinks were getting longer. Madison was already leaning against my arm, her eyes half-closed.

"Time to go," I said.

No protests. That's how I knew they were truly exhausted. Alexander didn't even argue.

The walk to the parking lot was slow. Madison's arms were around my neck, her head on my shoulder, her body a warm, heavy weight against my chest. Eleanor was squished between us.

Kyle had both boys. One on each arm. I don't know how he managed it—Alexander alone was a solid forty pounds of wriggling energy, and Ethan wasn't much lighter. But Kyle carried them like they weighed nothing. Like his body wasn't fighting a war against itself every single day.

The Escalade sat in its corner spot, absurdly large, absurdly black, absurdly there.

"Let me drive," I said.

Kyle raised an eyebrow.

"I want to try." I shifted Madison higher on my hip. "This might be my only chance to drive an armored car in my entire life."

Something flickered across his face. "I bought it. You'll have plenty of chances."

I didn't know what to do with that sentence. So I ignored it.

"My suggestion," I said, "is that after today, you put this thing in a garage somewhere. Or sell it. We don't need an armored car, Kyle. We're not—we're not at war."

He smiled. That small, unreadable smile.

Then he handed me the keys.

The drive was quiet.

All three children fell asleep within five minutes. Alexander first—his head lolling against the car seat, his mouth open. Then Ethan, more gradually, his eyes closing in slow increments. Madison had never really woken up at all.

I drove carefully. Smoothly. Taking corners like the car was made of glass instead of bulletproof steel. I didn't want them to feel any bumps, any jolts, anything that might pull them out of their dreams.

Kyle sat in the passenger seat. He didn't speak. Neither did I.

But it was a comfortable silence. The kind that doesn't need to be filled.

Today was good, I thought. Today was really, really good.

The city lights slid past the windows. The Escalade hummed beneath us. And I let myself feel something I hadn't felt in a long time.

Safe.

I pulled into the parking garage beneath the apartment building. Found a spot. Put the car in park.

The engine went quiet. In the backseat, I could hear the soft rhythm of three children breathing. Madison made a small sound in her sleep—not quite a word, not quite a sigh.

"Mia."

"Mm?" I turned to look at him.

The parking garage light was dim, orange-yellow, the kind that made everyone look slightly unreal. Kyle had his head tilted back against the headrest. I could see the stubble on his jaw.

"What?" I said.

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