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2026-01-06 06:11:15
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My Precocious Triplets Brought me a Husband For Christmas 042
The sixth year did not arrive with fanfare.It sneaked in silently, as they all had, masquerading as yet another dawn in yet another city he would never claim as his own.Martin...Mart now, because the world had grounded him down to something less woke before dawn to the sound of traffic breathing through rain. Tires hissed on wet pavement, engines sputtered with irritation, horns moaned pointlessly. He looked up at the ceiling over his head, following the long crack that runs diagonally across it, a fault line frozen mid-collapse.He was familiar with that crack.For weeks he had been tracking it with his eyes, learning its twists and turns, how it narrows and widens, how it goes behind a watery stain cropped like a continent he had never set foot on. It was the kind of ceiling you commit to memory when there’s no place else it’s safe to take your mind.Six years.He didn’t tally them like normal people did. There were no anniversaries, no dates to remember, no candles to blow out or
My Precocious Triplets Brought me a Husband For Christmas 041
The clerk never raised his eyes when he first requested his passport. “Name?” she said as she was already typing on the keyboard. Martins took it from her cautiously. Slowly. As if holding it otherwise might break it. “If you say it right, it might be like hanging on to something concrete.” She scowled at the monitor. “Do you have an ID number?” “No,” he said, “It was… lost. In the accident.” That earned him a glance. Brief. Assessing. Not unkind, but practiced in disbelief. “Then we need the secondary documentation,” she said. “Birth record. Citizenship file. Visa entry. Are all of these things related” “I don’t have those either.” Her lips tightened, not with fury but with finality. “Then I fear there is absolutely nothing I can do.” The sentence carried weight and there was nothing she could do with that. Martins lingered a second too long, as if expecting some other word to come between them. It didn’t. The clerk turned to the next person in line. The interaction was over. Wi
My Precocious Triplets Brought me a Husband For Christmas 040
He woke with her name already in his mouth.Not spoken, never spoken but felt beneath the surface of his mouth behind the teeth as a prayer hides behind folded hands. That hospital room was so dark, and the early morning light was straining to find its way through the curtains. Martins lay motionless, one hand on his chest, the other loosely balled at his side. His bones ached in all the usual places, but it was the ache in his mind that kept him frozen.Stephanie.She didn't come in quietly, thinking of her. It came in layers with noise, with waves of movement, with colour. Her laugh... Always her laugh. It had surprised him the first time he heard it years ago, because it was broader than he expected, unguarded, a laugh that belonged to a man who didn’t hold back joy even when life asked for it. He can still hear her laughter: faint and echoing, distorted by distance and time, but unmistakably hers.He closed his eyes.The recollection moved around.A kitchen, more compact than the
My Precocious Triplets Brought me a Husband For Christmas 039
The early mornings ran into a pale light that shone through narrow blinds. Martins had ceased to keep track of the hours, the days, the months; they had blurred together in the tiny, alienating hospital room that had come to be his prison and his sanctuary. He wakes to physical therapy, to pain, to the muted drone of machines he no longer recognizes, and the unfamiliar rhythm of a language he is only half able to understand.“Lift,” a voice commanded, and he complied, muscles protesting. “Again,” and he kept on pushing with every repetition he realized he was still here, still living, and against each move the next felt heavier and heavier.The image he saw in the tiny mirror was that of an alien. Burns scarred his forearms, and his ribs remain bruised under taut skin, hair grown out, stubbled. The hospital had given him a provisional name, made up of papers that misspelled his real one, passports that weren’t his.Every time he looks in the mirror, he is reminded of the man the world
My Precocious Triplets Brought me a Husband For Christmas 038
In a cramped hospital room, the television popped: it was on a rolling cart, high enough off the floor that Martins could see it with just a slight turn of his head. The nurse adjusting the monitors had quietly left it behind, providing him with a faint feeling of companionship and the gentle, mechanical drone of machines.A well-known announcer’s voice pierced the silence like a knife.“…tragic plane crash this morning near the coast... Initial reports indicate there are many dead. Emergency workers are still there. Families are being notified…”Sleepy and pained, Martins’ blurry eyes locked on to the screen. He saw the images first: crushed cars, the charred remnants of a fuselage nestled against a foggy-gray ocean spray, rescuers extracting bodies, a few that were barely identifiable. The tape rolled with savage regularity, unmoved by the reports of death and injury.“…among the dead confirmed is our colleague, Martins Hogwarts, passenger on Flight 917,” the anchor read. "He has b
My Precocious Triplets Brought me a Husband For Christmas 037
Anger was the first thing that told him something was wrong.It was the language.Through the haze of his awareness, voices came and went , soft, competent, undulating in a rhythm he couldn’t quite place. The words went right past him, normal sounding, but different looking, like his mind was seeing the outlines of language but it couldn’t make out what they were saying.Martins lay still, eyes closed, listening.The noise was still there. Slowing down now. More steady. A machine, something critical, and it wouldn’t stop reminding him. Underneath that, the rustling of clothes, footsteps, a trolley wheel squeaking.And the voices.Not English.Not fully.His mind sought for an answer, but found none.He opened his eyes. Light was coming in through a small window up on one of the walls, pale and gray, as if it were morning, or possibly just daylight obscured by clouds. The ceiling over him was different thicker, lower, crisscrossed with faint hairline cracks that hinted at age. This wa
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