Motherhond
Lycha POV
I woke up sometime after sunrise with my entire body feeling like it had been hit by a truck.
Several trucks, actually.
My arms felt weak.
My stomach ached.
My back hated me.
And yet
The first thing I did was turn my head toward the clear bassinet beside my bed.
Two tiny humans.
Mine.
Still there.
Still real.
Still somehow breathing despite the fact that I had absolutely no idea what I was doing.
My son was asleep with his mouth slightly open like he paid bills in this hospital.
My daughter looked suspiciously alert for someone less than twelve hours old.
I reached for my phone on instinct. 1
One unread message.
From my supervisor.
Hope you’re doing okay. How’s pregnancy treating you?
A laugh escaped me.
I typed back:
Pregnancy has officially ended. I gave birth last night. To twins.
The typing bubble appeared immediately.
Then:
TWINS???
I AM COMING.
I blinked.
What?
She arrived less than forty minutes later.
With flowers.
A massive bouquet.
+20 Bonus
And bags
So many bags
Diapers.
Baby blankets.
Tiny clothes.
Formula.
Nursing supplies.
Snacks.
More diapers.
I stared at her in shock.
“You did not have to do all this.”
She looked offended.
“Of course I did.”
Then she stepped closer, looked into the bassinets, and gasped so loudly both babies flinched.
“Oh my God.”
Her hand flew to her chest.
“They’re tiny.”
“They are,” I said weakly.
She turned and hugged me carefully.
And just like that
Something inside me nearly cracked.
Because no one had brought me flowers.
No one had checked on me like this.
No one had shown up.
Not when I was pregnant.
Not when I gave birth.
Not when my whole world split open and remade itself.
I swallowed hard.
“Thank you.”
She squeezed my hand.
“You’re not doing this alone, okay?”
And for one dangerous second
+20 Bonus
Tatumust belleved her
The hospital kept me for three daysS
Three days of nurses teaching me things 1 should probably have known before becoming responsible for two actual people.
How to swaddle
How to latch
How to burp.
How to bathe them.
How to tell if a cry meant hunger versus discomfort versus general infant rage.
Apparently babies have categories of screaming.
Who knew.
By discharge day, I was convinced they were making a mistake letting me leave.
Surely there should be a test.
A written exam. 4
At minimum a background check.
Instead they handed me paperwork, two babies, and a cheerful
“You’ll do great!”
Insane system.
Absolutely insane.
The apartment looked even smaller when I walked in carrying two car seats.
It had already been tiny.
Now it felt microscopic.
One bedroom.
One bathroom.
One couch.
Now apparently also a nursery, feeding station, laundry center, and site of my eventual mental collapse.
I set the car seats down and stared at them.
They stared back.
Well.
One stared.
One slept.
And suddenly
20 Banus
There was no
No doctor
No hospital button to press
fust me
Not literally.
The twins had developed what I can only describe as a demonic scheduling agreement.
If Eli slept-
Ava woke.
If by divine miracle both slept
One would sneeze and reset the entire house.

My hair lived in one permanent bun
It required pillows.
By day six, I learned Eli believed all silence was deeply offensive and should be corrected immediately. 2
VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABEL
Comments
The readers' comments on the novel: Too Late To Love Me I Already Left With His Twins (Lydia and Dave)