Chapter 2- Children Imagination

Five years later...

“Mama! He poured juice on my shirt!”

“No, I didn’t! She spilled it herself!”

“Why do I only have one shoe?!”

The walls of our cramped three-bedroom apartment shook with noise.

Eight kids, raced around the kitchen like a tornado made of chubby limbs, flying cereal, and relentless questions. I stood in the middle of it all the chaos, spoon in one hand, toddler balanced on my hip, and sleep-deprived to the point of hallucination.

Despite how exhausting it is, my heart was filled with joy. They were my kids, children I had only been able to give birth to after so much effort with my life on the line.

Words can't describe how much I cherish them.

“Enough!” I snapped, voice sharper than I intended. “Everyone to your chairs. Now.”

Tera and Zane froze mid-argument, and even baby Adam blinked up at me in stunned silence.

Thank God.

I dropped the spoon in the pot of oatmeal and rubbed my temple. My head throbbed. My back ached. And I hadn’t even had coffee yet.

“Lily, stop wiping your face with your shirt. Jay, spit that crayon out. Sophie, take off your brother’s socks. Those aren’t yours.”

“Mama, are we going to see wolves today?”

“What?” I glanced down at Nate, who stared up at me with those stormy eyes of his. “Wolves?”

He nodded, pointing at the TV. “He’s on the screen. The man from my dream.”

I didn’t look. I barely registered the words. All I saw was a mountain of laundry waiting in the corner and a sink full of dishes already calling my name.

“Mamaaaa,” Sophie whined, tugging my sleeve. “He looks like Jay!”

“And Adam!” Lily chimed in. “And me too!”

“Sure, sweetie,” I muttered. “That’s nice.”

Their voices blended into the background as I herded them toward the table.

My body moved on autopilot—bowl, spoon, juice box, repeat. I didn’t have time for cartoons or daydreams. Not when breakfast, school runs, and grocery lists ruled my mornings.

The front door creaked open behind me.

“Mannie! You call this clean?” my mother barked as she stepped inside, arms full of plastic shopping bags. “The floor’s sticky, the hallway smells like feet, and why is one of the twins drawing on the wall again?”

“Good morning to you too,” I said dryly, plucking the crayon from Sophie’s hand.

She muttered under her breath as she dropped the bags on the table. “Zarah would never let her kids act like this.”

I bit back a sigh. “Zarah has one child and two nannies.”

“She married well,” my mother shot back. “She made smart choices. You? You couldn’t even find one decent man to help raise these children.”

I stirred the oatmeal harder than necessary. “Can we not start today?”

She huffed and turned toward the TV, which the kids had turned up in excitement.

A newscaster stood in front of a sleek black car. Five tall men stepped out, faces mostly hidden behind dark sunglasses, but the camera zoomed in close enough to catch sharp cheekbones and smooth suits.

“There!” Jay shouted, pointing. “That one! He looks just like me!”

“And me!” Adam added with a mouth full of oatmeal.

My mother squinted at the screen. “They do look familiar…”

“Mama, he smells like us,” Nate said, wrinkling his nose thoughtfully.

That made me freeze for a heartbeat.

I glanced at them—all wide-eyed, excited, waiting for me to validate their fantasy.

Instead, I forced a tired laugh. “You kids say the weirdest things.”

My mother gave a dismissive wave. “It’s just a coincidence. Everyone says babies look like celebrities these days. It’s the eyebrows. Or maybe the jawline.”

“Yeah, sure,” I mumbled and turned away from the TV. “Now finish your breakfast. We’re already running late.”

I didn’t look again. I didn’t want to.

Because I didn’t need to see the screen to know who they were talking about.

I’d seen that face before.

In the dark.

Above me.

Five years ago.

My chest tightened, but I shoved the feeling down, down, down. Deep into the pit where I kept the memories I never let surface.

The ones from that night.

I hadn’t spoken of it. Not even to my mom. Not even when the test came back positive and I learned I was pregnant—not with one baby, but with eight tiny heartbeats.

Eight.

Everyone said it was a miracle. A medical mystery. They called it a phenomenon. They never asked about the father. And I never offered an answer.

I’d buried it. All of it.

I had eight mouths to feed. Eight little hearts to protect. I didn’t have time to think about fire-colored eyes or hands that held me like they owned me or the growl that echoed through my bones.

Mate.

I heard the word in my dreams sometimes. I woke up sweating, my neck burning. I never spoke of it.

And now my children were pointing at the screen like it was just a morning cartoon.

No.

This wasn’t real. This wasn’t a sign.

It was just coincidence.

A rich man on the news. A bunch of loud kids making up stories. That was all.

“Okay,” I clapped my hands. “Shoes, bags, let’s go! We’re going to be late!”

They groaned and scrambled from the table. The Tera and Zane fought over a sock. Adam tried to eat his spoon. Sophie cried because her braid came undone again.

My mother just shook her head. “You could’ve had a different life, you know.”

I didn’t answer her.

I just grabbed my purse, hoisted the baby on my hip again, and started ushering the kids out the door.

This was my life.

Messy. Loud. Exhausting.

And mine.

And whatever happened five years ago… it had stayed there.

In the dark.

Where it belonged.