The Unwanted Wife and Her Secret Twins (Mia and Kyle) novel Chapter 454

Mia

I needed to get out.

The walls of my apartment were closing in—not dramatically, not in that suffocating way people describe in books—just a gradual pressing that made my lungs work harder than they should. The air felt used. Breathed too many times by too many people.

I looked at Kyle still standing by the coffee table. His hand was on the edge of it.

"I'm going out," I said.

"Okay."

"The kids might wake up soon." I glanced at the hallway. The doors were still closed. "If they do—"

"I'll handle it."

"Alexander needs help with his shirt. He always puts it on backwards. And Ethan won't eat if his food is touching on the plate. Madison—"

"I know."

I stopped. Looked at him.

"You know?"

"I've been watching." He said it simply. "I know Alexander puts his shirt on backwards. I know Ethan doesn't like his food touching. I know Madison counts to seven before she takes her first bite of anything."

"Okay," I said.

I moved to the closet by the door. Pulled out Gas's leash. The metal clasp made that familiar jingling sound and Gas's head lifted from her bed in the corner. Her tail did a single slow thump against the floor.

"Come on, girl."

She stood—slower than usual. Her belly was noticeably rounder now. That male dog from the park had been efficient.

I clipped the leash to her collar. My fingers fumbled with the clasp. It took three tries.

"Mia."

Kyle's voice behind me.

I didn't turn around.

"Yeah?"

"Are you okay?"

The question hung there.

I looked down at Gas. At the way her tail was wagging now. Full enthusiasm. Like the world was still good and simple and worth wagging about.

"I don't know," I said.

Then I opened the door and left.

The hallway was empty.

Gas followed at her own pace. Her nails clicked on the linoleum. Click-click-click-pause-click-click-click. The rhythm irregular because of her belly.

We made it to the ground floor. The lobby smelled like someone's breakfast—bacon and coffee and something sweet. Mrs. Rodriguez probably. She cooked elaborate breakfasts every Saturday morning. The smell always filled the whole first floor.

Outside, the November air hit me.

Cold. The kind that made your eyes water if you breathed it in too fast.

I stood on the steps for a moment. Just breathing.

The street was quiet. Too early for the Saturday crowd. A few cars parked along the curb. A delivery truck idling two blocks down. The bodega on the corner had its lights on but the metal gate was still halfway down.

I started walking.

Gas walked beside me. Not pulling. Just matching my pace. Her belly swayed slightly with each step.

We turned left at the corner. Headed toward the park. It was only two blocks but felt longer. Each step required thought. Heel down. Toe down. Repeat.

My breath made small clouds in the cold air. I watched them form and disappear. Form and disappear.

A man was walking toward us. Middle-aged. Wearing a suit under his coat. His tie was loose around his neck. He looked at Gas's belly as we passed.

"Puppies?" he asked.

"Apparently."

He smiled. Kept walking.

We reached the park entrance. The iron gates were open. They were always open. Someone had spray-painted something on the left gate post. A word I couldn't read. The letters overlapping.

Inside, the paths were empty.

The trees were mostly bare now. A few leaves still clinging to branches. Brown and curled. Holding on through some stubborn vegetable will.

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