All Chapters of Pleasured By My Husband's Twin Brother : Chapter 211 - Chapter 220

Ciara’s POV The private park on the edge of our new neighborhood was quiet this time of morning. Tall oaks, winding paths, a handful of joggers who minded their own business. Rose dozed in the stroller, tiny fist curled around the edge of her blanket, cheeks pink from the fresh air. I pushed her with one hand while Cain walked beside me, his arm draped heavy over my shoulders.I felt… different today. Lighter. The kind of bold that had been building slowly since we left the old city. Like the weight of everything I used to carry was finally cracking enough to let some sunlight in.“You’re smiling,” Cain said, glancing down at me. That half-smirk played on his lips. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”“Nothing.” I bumped my hip against his. “Just thinking it’s nice. Normal. Us. Out here like we belong.”He squeezed my shoulder. “You do belong. We all do.”We found a shaded bench near a cluster of thick trees and sat for a while. Rose stirred, made a small fuss, then settled again

Ciara’s POV The baby monitor glowed green in the dark. Three fourteen a.m. Rose’s soft cry cut through the quiet like it always did, that thin, insistent sound that somehow managed to wake every cell in my body even when I felt half-dead.I sat up before Cain could, but his hand was already on my arm. “I got her. Go back to sleep.”“You took the last two,” I whispered, voice rough.“And I’ll take this one too.” He was already out of bed, pulling on a shirt, moving with that same quiet confidence he used on the road. “Stay. Please.”I listened to his footsteps down the hall, the low murmur of his voice as he lifted her. The crying stopped almost immediately. He always managed that. I lay there staring at the ceiling, guilt curling tight in my stomach. The kind that whispered I should be the one who never slept. That real mothers didn’t need this much help.Flashbacks came without warning. Simon’s voice. The cold way he used to look at me when I cried. The nights I spent alone in that

Ciara’s POV The sewing machine sat in the corner of the spare room like it had been waiting for me. I hadn’t touched it since before the divorce, before the move, before Rose. Dust covered the cover. My old sketchbooks were stacked underneath, edges worn soft from years of use.Cain’s voice drifted from the dining table where he sat with his laptop and Rose in the carrier. He was on a call, voice low and firm, bouncing her gently every time she made a sound. He hadn’t asked me to take her once all morning. He just handled it.I pulled the cover off the machine and ran my fingers over the familiar metal. The hum of it used to be the only thing that quieted my head. Designing clothes had always been mine. Not Simon’s. Not the Hale family’s. Mine.I sat down with a fresh sketchbook and started drawing. Loose lines at first. Then sharper. A soft wrap dress that would work for nursing. Wide-legged trousers that felt like armor. A leather jacket cut close to the body, something that looked

Ciara’s POV Rose was on the play mat kicking her legs like she had somewhere important to be. I sat cross-legged beside her, making the same ridiculous faces I’d been making for weeks with zero results. Cain was in the kitchen rinsing bottles, humming something off-key.Then it happened.Her mouth stretched wide. Not gas. Not a random twitch. A real smile. Eyes locked on mine, gums on full display, pure delighted baby joy.I froze. Then the tears came so fast I couldn’t stop them.“Cain,” I called, voice cracking. “Cain, come here. Hurry.”He appeared in the doorway, dish towel over his shoulder. “What’s wrong?”“She’s smiling. Look. She smiled at me.”He dropped to his knees beside us just as Rose did it again, this time for him. The sound that left his chest was half laugh, half something deeper. He reached out and traced her cheek with one rough finger.“Hey, pretty girl,” he murmured. “There you are.”I cried harder. Happy tears. Ugly, messy, can’t-catch-my-breath tears. Cain’s a

Ciara’s POV Mornings had a rhythm now. Feed Rose. Change her. Let Cain take the early stretch so I could shower without listening for every small sound. The house still smelled like baby lotion and coffee. It felt less like survival and more like a life we were choosing on purpose.I started walking in the mornings. Nothing intense. Just the loop around our neighborhood with the stroller while Cain handled a call or finished the overnight bottles. The first few days my body complained. Soft stomach. Tight hips. The lingering awareness that everything sat differently now. But the movement helped. Air in my lungs. Blood moving. A quiet reminder that I still lived in this body and it was still capable.Therapy was new. Video sessions twice a week from the spare room while Rose napped. The therapist had a calm voice and a way of asking questions that didn’t let me hide behind “I’m fine.” We talked about the years of shrinking myself. About duty dressed up as love. About the fear that pea