Read The Unwanted Wife and Her Secret Twins novel by Artemis Z.Y. Updated 2025 -26 - The Unwanted Wife and Her Secret Twins Chapter 512

The Unwanted Wife and Her Secret Twins Chapter 512

Alexander makes a sound—something between a cheer and a sob. He’s off the couch in an instant, racing across the room and throwing himself at me and Madison with enough force to nearly knock us over.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you—”

“Alexander—”

“—you’re the best, Mama, you’re the BEST—”

“I can’t breathe—”

“I promise I’ll help take care of them, I’ll feed them and walk them and—”

“Alexander.” Kyle’s voice cuts through. “Let your mother breathe.”

Alexander pulls back. His face is wet again, though he doesn’t seem to notice.

“Sorry,” he says. “I got excited.”

“I noticed.”

Ethan has come over too. He doesn’t throw himself at anyone—that’s not Ethan—but he stands close. Close enough that his hand finds my shoulder and gives it a single squeeze.

“I’ll create a care schedule,” he says. “I’ll optimize for efficiency while maintaining adequate rest periods for both the puppies and the caregivers.”

“That would be helpful, Ethan.”

“I know.”

And then they’re all there—Alexander pressed against my side, Ethan’s hand steady on my shoulder, Madison warm in my lap. Three children. Three heartbeats. Three small lives wrapped around mine so completely that I can’t imagine who I was before them.

Gas lifts her head. She watches us—watches her puppies and watches us. Her tail wags.

Kyle goes to check on the puppies again. Or at least that’s what he says. What he actually does is crouch beside the whelping box and stay there, his hand resting on Gas’s head, his eyes fixed on the sleeping pile of fur and heartbeats.

The children finally give in to exhaustion.

I should move them. Carry them to their beds. Tuck them in properly. Give them the rest they need.

Instead, I stay where I am.

I watch them breathe. I watch Kyle watching the puppies. I watch the morning light stretch across the floor, turning everything gold.

“Kyle.”

My voice is quiet. I don’t want to wake the kids.

He turns. Those gray eyes—tired, bloodshot, but present. Here.

“You should be at the hospital.”

“I know, Mia.” His voice is gentle. Patient. The voice he uses when he isn’t going to argue, isn’t going to fight—but also isn’t going to change his mind. “I knew it when I got in the car. I knew it the whole drive. I knew it when I was standing outside your door, trying to decide whether to knock or just use the key.”

I push myself up. My legs protest. My back screams. Every part of me wants to sink back to the floor, close my eyes, let exhaustion take me the way it’s taken the kids.

Instead, I cross the room and lower myself beside him. Beside the whelping box. Beside Gas and the puppies and all the small, fragile, impossible things that somehow belong to us now.

“I need to talk to you,” I say. “About something.”

Kyle looks at me. Waits.

“The treatment.”

“No,” he says.

It’s subtle—something most people wouldn’t notice. But I’ve spent too many years watching this face, learning the language of its silences. I see the way his jaw tightens. The way his eyes shutter just slightly. The way his entire body goes still.

“Kyle—”

“No.”

“Hugo said the risks are manageable. The pain is temporary. And the marrow regenerates—”

“I know what Hugo said.” His voice is flat. “And the answer is no.”

I lean closer. Not touching him, but close enough to smell the hospital still clinging to his clothes, the exhaustion in his skin, the familiar scent that is just Kyle beneath it all.

“Kyle, did you see them tonight?” I ask softly. “Did you see what they did for that puppy?”

“That was different.”

“They love you,” I say. “They love you so much, Kyle. Maybe more than you love them—”

“That’s not possible.”

“—and if you think for one second they wouldn’t go through pain to keep you alive, to have more time with you, to—” I stop. I have to breathe. “You don’t know them at all.”

Kyle is silent.

The puppies sleep on. Gas breathes slow and steady. Somewhere outside, a car passes, its engine a distant hum.

“I’m not saying you have to say yes,” I continue quietly. “I’m not saying you have to decide anything right now. I’m just saying—don’t say no for them. Don’t take that choice away from them. They’ve lost too much already. Too many decisions have been made for them by adults who thought they knew better.”

My hand finds his. Covers it. His fingers are cold.

“Let them decide,” I say. “Please.”

Kyle doesn’t answer.

He just sits there, his hand beneath mine, his gaze fixed on the sleeping puppies, his face unreadable. The morning light shifts again, climbing higher, turning the room from gold to white.

Then he moves to the children.

Alexander is closest, sprawled on the floor where he fell asleep, dinosaur pajamas twisted, mouth slightly open. Kyle kneels beside him and brushes the hair from his forehead, his fingers trembling just a little.

He leans down.

“I love you,” he whispers, so quietly I almost miss it. “More than you know. More than I knew how to say.”

He moves to Ethan. Same motion.

“I love you too,” he whispers.

Madison is last.

She’s still curled around Eleanor, her dark hair spread across the carpet like spilled ink. Kyle crouches beside her. His hand hovers for a moment—hesitant, uncertain—before settling gently into her hair.

“And you,” he whispers. “You beautiful, brave girl.”

He kisses her forehead.

Then he stays there. Kneeling on my living room floor at seven in the morning, surrounded by sleeping children, newborn puppies, and the aftermath of a night that should have broken us.

I watch him.

I watch the way his shoulders shake—just once.

I watch the way his hand stays in Madison’s hair, like he’s afraid to let go.