Read The Unwanted Wife and Her Secret Twins novel by Artemis Z.Y. Updated 2025 -26 - The Unwanted Wife and Her Secret Twins Chapter 499

The Unwanted Wife and Her Secret Twins Chapter 499

The family lounge was too bright.

That was the thing about hospitals they never let you forget where you were. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting everything in that flat, shadowless glare that made everyone look slightly ill. Even Sophie, with her perfect makeup and her Hermès scarf, looked washed out. Gray around the edges.

Madison was asleep against my shoulder.

Her breath came slow and even, warm against my neck. She’d been asleep for almost an hour now, her small body heavy with the particular weight of exhausted children.

“Coffee?”

Thomas’s voice. Low. Careful. He was holding a paper cup, steam rising from the surface.

I shook my head.

He sat down anyway. Not next to me there wasn’t room, with Madison sprawled across half the couch-but close. Close enough that I could smell the coffee, dark and bitter, cutting through the nothing-smell of the hospital air.

“You should eat something,” he said.

“I’m fine.”

He didn’t respond. Just sat there, holding his coffee, watching the same clock I’d been watching.

Across the room, Alexander was building something with the Legos Sophie had brought. A tower, maybe. Or a spaceship. It was hard to tell—he kept adding pieces at random angles, defying any recognizable architecture. Ethan sat beside him, not building, just watching. Sorting the remaining pieces by color and size, arranging them in neat rows on the carpet.

They weren’t talking.

That was the thing that scared me. Alexander always talked. He knew something was wrong.

They all knew.

My mother sat in the corner, Hugo beside her.

Morton was by the window. Standing. His hands in his pockets, his shoulders tight under his sweater. He hadn’t sat down since the last update. Just stood there, looking out at the Baltimore skyline, at the gray November sky, at nothing.noveldrama

Scarlett was curled in an armchair, her legs tucked beneath her, her phone face- down on the armrest. She’d stopped checking it an hour ago.

Sophie paced.

Back and forth, back and forth, her heels silent on the carpet. She’d taken them off somewhere around noon—I’d seen her kick them under a chair.

We were all waiting.

That was the only thing we could do.

The surgery had started at 9:17 a.m.

I knew because I’d been watching the clock then too. Watching Kyle walking down

the hallway toward the operating suite, watching his back disappear around a corner, watching the doors swing closed behind him.

He’d looked back once.

Then he was gone.

And the waiting began.

The first update came at 10:30. “Lymphodepletion complete. Beginning cell preparation.” The second at 12:15. “Infusion started. Proceeding normally.” The doctor delivered each one with that careful, professional calm, her voice neither hopeful nor worried, giving us nothing to hold onto except the absence of bad news. No news is good news, she’d said.

Madison shifted against my shoulder. A small sound escaped her not quite a word, not quite a whimper. Her fingers tightened around Eleanor’s ear.

“Shh.” I pressed my lips to her hair. “It’s okay. I’m here.”

She settled. Her breathing evened out.

I looked up and found Ethan watching me.

He was still sitting on the floor with his Legos, his hands still, his gray eyes-Kyle’s eyes-fixed on my face. There was something in his expression that made my chest tighten. Something too old for five years old.

“Mama,” he said quietly.

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“I’m scared.”

The words cracked something open in my chest.

My little boy didn’t say things like that. Ethan analyzed. Ethan calculated. Ethan

processed the world through facts and figures and percentages.

His lower lip was trembling. Just slightly. Just enough for me to see.

“Oh, baby.” I reached for him with my free arm-the one that wasn’t holding Madison-and pulled him onto the couch beside me He came without resistance, his small body folding into mine, his face pressing against my shoulder.

“Come here,” I said. “Alexander, come here.”

Alexander looked up from his Legos. His eyes were too bright. He’d been listening.

Of course he’d been listening.

He crossed the room in three quick steps and climbed onto the couch on my other side, wedging himself between me and the armrest. His hand found my sweater, fingers twisting in the fabric, holding on.

Three children pressed against me. Madison on my lap, Ethan on my left, Alexander on my right. Their warmth seeping into my skin. Their breath mixing with mine. Their ear a living thing, shared between us.

I wrapped my arms around all of them. Held on as tight as I could.

“I’m scared too,” I whispered into Ethan’s hair. “It’s okay to be scared.”

Alexander’s grip tightened on my sweater. “I don’t want Daddy to die.”

“I know, baby.”

“He just came back.” Alexander’s voice was small. Smaller than I’d ever heard it. “Shh.” I pulled him closer. “Shh.”

Madison stirred in my lap. Her dark eyes blinked open, unfocused, still half-asleep. “Mama?” she murmured.

I just held them.

All three of them.

My children.

And I prayed.

Not out loud. Not with words they could hear. Just silently, in the space behind my ribs where all my truest feelings lived.

God. Whatever you are. Whoever you are. I don’t know if you’re listening. I don’t know if you care. I don’t even know if I believe in you.

But please.

Please let this man live.

He’s made so many mistakes. He’s hurt me in ways. But he’s trying. He’s trying so

hard.

And they love him.

God, they love him so much.

Please, I prayed. Let him live.

He’s an asshole and a liar and he doesn’t deserve my forgiveness.

But he deserves to live.

He deserves a chance to be better.

We all deserve that.