Read The Unwanted Wife and Her Secret Twins novel by Artemis Z.Y. Updated 2025 -26 - The Unwanted Wife and Her Secret Twins Chapter 446

The Unwanted Wife and Her Secret Twins Chapter 446

“Alexander.” My voice is sharper now. “What have I told you about watching grown-up shows?”

“I don’t watch grown-up shows!”

“Then where did you learn about ex-boyfriends and current boyfriends and awkward social dynamics?”

“I don’t know! From existing! From having ears! From Mrs. Rodriguez and also from the elevator-”

“Alexander!” I’m trying not to smile but also genuinely alarmed. “You’re five. You shouldn’t know these things.”

“Well I do know them! And I’m just trying to help you not be awkward!”

“Okay!” I stand up. “That’s enought. And you…” I point at him. “Less eavesdropping. Less elevator gossip. Less… less learning about adult relationships from our seventy-year-old neighbor.”

“She’s sixty-eight,” he mumbles.

“Alexander.”

“Okay, okay. Sorry.” But he doesn’t look sorry. He looks pleased with himself for knowing things, for being observant, for understanding the world in ways that make me both proud and deeply concerned about what else he’s picking up. Chapters first released on

From his bed, Ethan says quietly, “But he’s right though.”

“About what?”

“About Uncle Thomas and Daddy not being in the same space. It would be weird. Even I can tell that and I’m not good at social dynamics.”

“You’re fine at social dynamics,” I mutter.

“I’m really not. But even I can see that Uncle Thomas looks at you the way Daddy looks at you and that means they probably shouldn’t be in the same room or there might be…” He pauses, searching for the word. “…tension.”

“Where did you learn the word tension?”

“School. Mrs. Martinez used it when Jake and Connor both wanted to sit next to Emma at lunch and she said ‘boys, there’s too much tension here, someone needs to move.””

“That’s… that’s completely different.”

“Is it?” Ethan tilts his head. “It seems analogous. Multiple males competing for the attention of a single female. Same dynamic, different age group.”

“Oh my god.” I press my hands to my face. “What is happening? How did we get here??”

“You asked,” Alexander points out helpfully.

“I know I asked! I’m regretting asking!”

Madison giggles from the doorway, a soft sound that breaks the tension, and suddenly I’m laughing too because this is my life now-five-year-olds analyzing my romantic life using examples from soap operas filtered through Mrs. Rodriguez and playground dynamics explained with scientific terminology.

“Okay,” I say, when I can breathe again. “Okay. New rule. No more relationship advice from Mrs. Rodriguez. No more eavesdropping on phone calls. No more romantic analysis of any kind. You’re five. All of you. You should be thinking about toys and snacks and whether grass is called grass because it’s green or if green is called green because of grass.”

“That’s a good question actually,” Ethan says, perking up. “Etymology is fascinating and-”

“BED,” I say firmly. “Right now. Everyone. Bed.”

Alexander flops back down dramatically. “But we didn’t finish talking about the house!”

“We’ll talk about it tomorrow. When you’re less focused on my dating life.”

“Okay but just so you know,” he says, pulling his covers up, “I think you should pick Daddy. For the house. And also for life. Because genetics.”

“Genetics?”

“Yeah. Me and Ethan came from you and Daddy’s genetics. So if you pick someone else to be your boyfriend, any new babies would have different genetics and then they wouldn’t be our full siblings and Mrs. Rodriguez says half-siblings always fight more than full siblings and-”

“ALEXANDER. BED. NOW. SLEEP.”

He grins at me—that mischievous smile that’s pure trouble—and closes his eyes with exaggerated obedience.

I turn off their light, my heart still hammering with a mixture of exasperation and love and complete bewilderment at how children can be so innocent and so knowing at the same time.

“Goodnight,” I say firmly. “Sleep. No more talking. No more relationship analysis. Just sleep.”

“Goodnight Mama,” they chorus, and I can hear the smile in Alexander’s voice even though his eyes are closed.

I check on Madison last, tucking her into her bed in her own room. “Ready for sleep?”

“Mama?” she whispers. “I like Uncle Thomas. But I want Daddy in our house too.”

“I know, baby.”

“Is that wrong?”

“No. It’s not wrong. You can love more than one person. That’s not wrong.”

“But Alexander says ”

“Alexander says a lot of things. Don’t worry about it. Just dream about window

seats and big rooms and all the space you’ll have.”

She smiles, her eyes already closing. “Okay. Love you, Mama.”

“Love you too.”

I stand in the hallway afterward, leaning against the wall.

These children are going to be the death of me.

But god, I love them.

Their faces are changing so fast-every day a little older, a little more themselves. Alexander’s jaw losing that baby roundness, Ethan’s features sharpening, Madison filling out with proper meals and love.

Time is stealing them from me, these baby versions, replacing them with bigger people.

I want to hold onto this moment-them in their matching pajamas, clean and safe and mine-but even as I try to capture it, it’s slipping away.

Tomorrow they’ll be different. Older.

I check on them one final time, watching them breathe in the dim light from the hallway, and then I force myself to step away and start cleaning because that’s what you do you clean up, you put things away, you create order from chaos.

The kitchen still holds the morning’s breakfast dishes and I wash them now, the water too hot but satisfying, then wipe down counters and load the dishwasher and vacuum the living room even though it doesn’t need it.

When everything is done, I gather the garbage-two bags-and grab my keys.

Gas lifts her head and I tell her to stay, and then I’m in the hallway, taking the stairs because the elevator is broken, four flights down with the bags bumping against my legs.

The back door opens to the alley where the dumpsters are, and the November air hits me-cold and sharp—and I realize I should have grabbed a jacket but I’m only going to be out here for a minute.

I toss the bags in and turn to go back inside, and there is a man there.

Who else would he be?

Kyle. Leaning against the brick wall, hands in his pockets, just watching me.

My heart does something complicated and I stand there for a moment, just looking at him, and then I raise one eyebrow.

“Hey, you,” I say, my voice dry and tired. “You know you look like a stalker?”

He doesn’t smile. “I know.”

“So you’re aware. That’s good. Awareness is the first step.”

“To what?”

“Not being a stalker.”

His mouth twitches and I cross my arms against the cold.

I sigh, long and tired. “You can’t keep doing this. Showing up. Disappearing.

Coming back. Leaving again. It’s exhausting.”

“I know.”

“Do you? Because it doesn’t feel like

you know. It feels like you’re stuck. Like you can’t decide whether to stay or go so you just keep doing bath. Rylem so tired of this his mood swing thing you’ve got going

on

He pushes off the wall, takes one step toward me. “I don’t know how to do this. I

don’t know how to be around you without-” He stops, jaw working. “I don’t know how to stay away either.”

“So you lurk in alleys.”

“Apparently.”

The yellow light above us flickers-off, on, off-and in the darkness I can barely

see him, just his outline, and then the light returns and his face reappears, exhausted and conflicted.

“You looked happy today,” he says quietly. “At the restaurant. With the kids. You

looked happy.”

“I was happy.”

“I ruined it. The story. I ruined the moment.”

“You left. That’s different.”

“Is it?”

The wind picks up and I shiver, and he notices immediately, already shrugging off

his jacket.

“Take it.”

“I’m fine.”

“Mia. Take the jacket.”

“I don’t need ”

“Please.”

“Thank you,” I say.

He nods, looks away, his jaw tight.

We stand there in the flickering light, six feet apart, and the exhaustion between

us feels like a living thing.

“The kids asked about you tonight,” I tell him. “Alexander wanted to know if you’d

be coming to live with us. In the new house I’m building.”

His head snaps up.

“They love you,” I continue, my voice

steady. “Despite everything. They love you. Alexander says it’s genetics. Ethan says it’s observable behavior patterns Madison says you sme right.” I almost smile. “They’re very articulate about why they prefer you to Thomas, actually. It was quite

the presentation.”

“Mia-”

“I’m not saying this to hurt you or pressure you or anything else. I’m just…” I stop,

trying to find the words. “I’m just telling you what they said. Because they’re

honest in ways we’ve forgotten how to be.”

“I can’t let them do it,” he says suddenly. “The bone marrow. I can’t.”

He’s quiet for a long moment, his eyes on mine, and the light flickers again but

this time we both ignore it.