Chapter 194
Chapter 195
VENUS
The twins didn’t care that the world was broken.
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They didn’t care that their father wasn’t here, or that my chest felt carved out each time I looked at the space beside me and found it empty. They didn’t care that I still dreamed of monitors beeping, of Aaron’s stillness, of promises half-fulfilled.
All they cared about was milk. Warmth. The comfort of a body that would hold them through the night.
And I gave it. God, I gave everything I had.
But it was never enough.
Not when every cry pulled me in two directions-toward them, and toward the man who should have been here, who should have been the anchor I leaned on when the exhaustion hollowed me out.
Rosemary was God sent. Gianna too.
She stayed up with me and helped me all the time.
She really was the mom I never had.
The days blurred. Nights even worse. Feeding, burping, diapers, rocking, soothing-then again, and again. and again. My body had already been worn thin by pregnancy, but now it felt like something far crueler: as if I was being ground down to the bone by love and grief, each equally demanding, equally endless.
Sometimes I thought I’d shatter. Sometimes I wanted to. But then my son would curl his tiny fist around my finger, or my daughter would sigh in her sleep against my chest, and I remembered: they weren’t just mine. They were his too. Pieces of Aaron I could still hold.
So I kept moving. One moment, one breath at a time.
Connor was the first to show up.
He didn’t knock-he never did-but this time, when he came storming in with a duffel bag slung over his shoulder and an expression that dared the universe to test him, I almost broke down at the sight.
“I come bearing gifts,” he announced, dumping the bag onto my couch.
I raised a brow, bleary-eyed, clutching my daughter against my shoulder while my son squirmed in the bassinet. “If those gifts don’t include coffee strong enough to keep me alive, you’re wasting your time. Rose won’t Let me have any p>
Connor smirked, but it was softer than his usual bite. He unzipped the bag, revealing packages of baby clothes, bottles, formula, and-God bless him-two steaming cups of coffee.
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Chapter 195
I almost wept.
“You’re a saint,” I muttered, seizing one cup and inhaling the bitter steam like it was salvation.
He flopped onto the couch, watching as I rocked the baby absently. His eyes, sharp and unreadable in business meetings, softened when they landed on her.
“You’re doing good, Vee,” he said after a pause. “Better than anyone else could p>
The compliment nearly undid me. I blinked hard, swallowing the lump in
my
throat.
“I don’t feel like it p>
$8
“You don’t have to. You just have to keep going p>
And then-because he was Connor and couldn’t let things get too heavy-he added, “Besides, she already has your glare. God help us when she learns to talk p>
I laughed, a watery sound, but real.
For a moment, the weight eased.
Colton visited next.
He was quieter, almost hesitant as he stood in the doorway of the nursery, hands shoved deep into his pockets.
“Can I…?” He gestured toward the crib.
I nodded, stepping aside. He leaned down, studying the twins with an intensity that made my throat ache.
“They’re small,” he murmured. “Fragile p>
“They’re stronger than they look,” I whispered back.
He reached out, hesitated, then finally let one finger rest gently against my son’s hand. The baby’s fist curled around it instantly. Colton froze, as if that tiny grip could unravel him.
“They’ll never know her,” he said quietly. “Martha. They’ll never know what she gave p>
I placed a hand on his arm. “Then we’ll tell them. We’ll make sure they know p>
He nodded once, sharp, like a vow.
And when he left, I saw the wet shine in his eyes that he didn’t let me mention.
But it was Dorian who surprised me most.
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Chapter 195
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He came one evening when the babies had finally drifted into the fragile peace of sleep. The room was dim, lit only by the soft glow of the lamp beside Aaron’s empty chair.
I almost told him to leave-I didn’t have the energy for anyone-but he stayed in the doorway, silent, watchful.
“Say it,” I muttered, too tired to look
“Say what p>
“That I look like hell p>
His mouth quirked, but he didn’t take the bait. Instead, he crossed the room, sat in the chair across from me, and folded his hands.
“You look like someone carrying the world p>
I blinked. That wasn’t what I’d expected.
“And p>
“And you shouldn’t have to carry it alone p>
The words were simple, but they landed heavy.
Dorian had been so many things in my life-opponent, rival, thorn in my side. But as he sat there, his gaze steady, his voice low, I saw something different. A man who had been stripped of cruelty by the same grief that had hollowed me out.
He stayed for hours, not talking much, just…being there. When one of the twins stirred, he rose without hesitation, awkwardly but carefully cradling the tiny body until the cries subsided.
Watching him then, I realized: he wasn’t the same man who once would’ve used my pain as leverage. He had changed. Maybe grief had softened him, maybe it had sharpened him into something truer. Either way, he was here.
And I was grateful.
Nights were the worst.
Even with their help, even with Connor’s jokes, Colton’s vows, Dorian’s steady presence-when darkness fell, I still ended up in the same place.
By Aaron’s bedside.
The twins bundled close, one on each side of his still form, as if proximity could tether him to us.
I would sit there for hours, whispering to him, telling him about their cries, their quirks, their tiny triumphs. How our son kicked harder than his sister. How she stared at the ceiling with eyes that seemed older than she
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Chapter 195
was. How they both calmed when I whispered his name.
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I told him everything. Because if I stopped, if I let silence swallow us, I was terrified he’d slip further away.
“See them, Aaron?” I’d murmur, brushing my fingers over his hand, then over the curve of our son’s cheek. “They’re yours. Every line of them. Every sound they make. They’re waiting for you. We all are p>
And sometimes-when exhaustion blurred the edges of reality-I swore I saw his eyelids flutter. Swore I felt his fingers twitch beneath mine.
It was enough to keep me coming back. Enough to keep me hoping.
The world kept turning. The twins kept growing. And I kept waiting, loving, surviving in the spaces between.
But always, always, with his name on my lips.
Because even if he couldn’t hear me yet, I refused to let him forget who was waiting. Who needed him. Who loved him too much to let
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Ruby Walker
Ruby Walker is a rising voice in the world of romance and spicy fiction. With a gift for weaving deep emotions, sizzling chemistry, and unexpected twists, her stories are a blend of passion and drama that captivate readers from start to finish. Ruby’s writing style is bold and irresistible—perfect for those who crave intense, addictive love stories.