Semua Bab Pregnant With My Twin Sister’s Fiancé’s Baby: Bab 71 - Bab 80

The last time we walked into the community center multipurpose room, we were imposters.We were two people sharing a secret, hiding behind masks, pretending to be a happy couple while the foundation of our relationship was built on quicksand. I remembered the guilt I felt back then, the heavy weight of lying to Marcus, and the terrifying pull I felt toward a woman I wasn't supposed to want.Tonight, we walked in as a team.I held the door open for Aria. She waddled past me—a word she hated, but one I found adorable—her hand resting on the high, tight curve of her stomach at thirty-four weeks."Ready to breathe?" I asked, placing my hand on the small of her back."Ready to get this over with," she corrected, though she smiled. "If Martha makes us chant 'om' again, I might go into labor out of spite.""I'll catch the baby," I promised. "I have great reflexes."We entered the room. The smell of lavender and gym mats was the same, but the atmosphere felt different. Or maybe we were differ

My desk was too clean.For the last six months, this surface had been a chaotic landscape of coffee cups (decaf), schematic drawings, sticky notes, and half-eaten protein bars. It was the cockpit from which I had piloted Project Aether through the storm of development hell.Now, it was bare. My monitor was dark. My personal effects—the lucky bobblehead, the photo of Lily and me from college, the framed ultrasound of Emma—were packed into a cardboard box at my feet.I was thirty-six weeks pregnant. And I was officially unemployed.Technically, I was on maternity leave. But for someone who had defined her worth by her output for the last decade, it felt suspiciously like being fired by biology."You're hovering," a voice said behind me.I turned. Sarah, my lead programmer, was standing there with a grin and a cupcake that looked like it was 90% frosting."I'm not hovering," I defended, taking the cupcake. "I'm... surveying the handover.""You left us a twenty-page documentation manual,

January 15th. The date had been circled on the calendar in the kitchen, highlighted on my phone, and etched into my brain for months.Due date.The sun rose over Manhattan, painting the sky a cold, indifferent gray. I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, waiting. Waiting for a groan, a gasp, a hand gripping my arm.Silence.Beside me, Aria slept—or tried to. She was surrounded by a fortress of pregnancy pillows, shifting every thirty seconds with a soft grunt of discomfort.I checked the time: 7:00 AM.According to the books, the apps, and the very expensive obstetrician, today was the day.But the nursery was quiet. The hospital bag gathered dust by the door. And Emma Rose West remained stubbornly, infuriatingly silent.Aria rolled over, opening one eye. "Is she here yet?""Not unless she crawled out while we were sleeping," I said, smoothing a strand of hair from her forehead.Aria groaned, burying her face in the pillow. "I am never getting out of this bed. I live here now. Just bri

"Ten centimeters," Dr. Martinez announced, her voice cutting through the haze of exhaustion in the room like a beacon. "It's time, Aria. On the next contraction, I need you to push."I stood by the head of the bed, gripping Aria's hand. My other hand rested behind her neck, ready to support her.She looked up at me. Her face was flushed, streaked with sweat and tears. Her hair was plastered to her forehead. She looked wrecked. She looked terrified.And she looked like the most powerful thing I had ever seen."I can't," she whispered, her voice raspy. "Noah, I'm so tired.""I know," I said, wiping her forehead with a cool cloth. "I know you are. But you're almost there. She's right there, Aria. You just have to bring her home."She nodded, a jerky, determined movement. She closed her eyes, gathering herself.The monitor beeped, signaling the rise of a contraction."Okay," Aria gritted out. "Okay.""Grab your knees," Dr. Martinez instructed. "Chin to chest. Deep breath, hold it, and pu

The hospital room felt safe. It had nurses, monitors, and a call button that summoned experts in seconds.The world outside felt like a chaotic, uncontrolled danger zone."Are we sure we're allowed to take her?" I asked, staring at the tiny bundle sleeping in the plastic bassinet. "I feel like we need a permit. Or a license. Or a security detail."Aria laughed from the wheelchair where she was waiting. She looked exhausted, beautiful, and ready to leave. "We signed the papers, Noah. She's ours. We're being discharged, not escaping.""Feels like escaping," I muttered, zipping up the diaper bag for the third time to check if I had the spare pacifier. I did. I had four.I walked over to the bassinet. It was time for the outfit change.I had bought a thousand intricate, stylish outfits. But for today, for the journey home, I had chosen the most cliché thing possible.A pink onesie that said Daddy's Girl in glittery script."Don't judge me," I told Aria as I carefully lifted Emma."I'm not