The Unwanted Wife and Her Secret Twins (Mia and Kyle) novel Chapter 507

Mia's POV

Small feet on hardwood.

The shuffle of sleep-heavy steps. The creak of the third floorboard from the hallway—the one Alexander always jumps over during the day but forgets about at night.

"Mama?" Alexander's voice. "Mama, what's—"

He stops.

Three small figures in the dim light. Alexander in front, his dinosaur pajamas twisted, one sock missing, hair flat on the left side where he was sleeping. Ethan just behind him, squinting, one hand on the wall like he's not quite sure he's awake. Madison at the back.

Alexander's eyes find Kyle first.

I watch it happen, the moment of wait, Daddy's supposed to be in the hospital, and then something else. Then his gaze moves past Kyle. To the puppy in Kyle's hands.

"Is that..." He's already walking. His bare feet slap against the floor, too loud in the quiet. "Is that one of the babies? Why isn't it—why is it so still?"

"Alexander—"

"It's not moving." He's beside Kyle now, dropping to his knees, his face level with Kyle's hands. "Daddy, it's not moving."

"I know, buddy."

"But—" Alexander's voice is climbing.

"I'm trying."

"Try harder."

"Alexander." I reach for him.

"The towel's cold." Ethan's voice. Ethan reaches toward the stack by the couch. "If the puppy's hypothermic, we're making it worse. We need—here."

He pulls a dry towel free. Unfolds it. Holds it out.

Kyle transfers the puppy. One set of hands to another, the motion quick and careful, and Ethan wraps the dry fabric around the tiny body with a precision that makes my throat ache.

"Better," Ethan murmurs. He's not talking to us. He's talking to himself. Working through the problem like it's a math equation. "Warmth first. Then stimulation. Then—"

"Can I help?" Alexander's voice is smaller now.

"Come here."

Alexander scrambles closer.

"Give me your hands."

She walks forward. Slow steps. Her eyes fixed on the puppy in her brothers' hands.

She kneels beside them. Still humming. Still holding Eleanor.

And then she reaches out—carefully, so carefully—and places her small hand on the puppy's back.

"Don't be scared," she whispers. "We're all here. We're not going anywhere."

The puppy doesn't move.

I turn back to Gas.

My hands know what to do. Catch the puppy. Tear the membrane. Clear the airway. This one comes out fighting—squirming, crying, angry about being born into a cold, bright world. I clean it. Dry it. Place it beside its siblings.

Three puppies now.

I look back. All four of them, huddled around a puppy that weighs less than a coffee cup. Alexander's hands still pressing, still counting under his breath, his face wet with tears he hasn't noticed. Ethan holding the towel, adjusting it, his brow furrowed in concentration. Madison humming her small song, her fingers gentle on the puppy's fur.

And Kyle.

Kyle watching them. Watching the way they've circled this tiny creature, this life that might already be gone. Watching the way they refuse to give up.

"Come on," Alexander whispers. His voice cracks. "Come on, come on, please—"