We walked into the hospital lounge, and for a moment, I felt like an outsider stepping into someone else's life.
William sat on the bench, a soft smile on his face as he watched the twins sip hot chocolate from paper cups. Zeal's face was scrunched into a pout, tears threatening to fall. His cup sat untouched beside him, a little pool of liquid on the rim.
"I want mallow," he whined, rubbing his eyes with the back of his sleeve. "Where's the mallow?"
"Mallow, mallow, mallow," he chanted again, this time more miserably, lower lip trembling.
I watched Lia rush forward, crouching in front of him with a mix of panic and patience only a mother could manage.
"Hey, hey, it's okay, baby." She tucked his curls behind his ear, her voice soft and coaxing. "We'll get the mallows at home, alright? The good squishy ones, remember? With the pink and white swirls?"
Zeal sniffled, lower lip still trembling. "Promise?"
"Double promise." She kissed his forehead.
He gave a half-nod, still mopey, but no longer on the edge of tears. Lia smoothed her hand over his back in slow circles, her touch natural. I could've stood there all day just watching them.
But then I felt someone approach. Tiny steps. Light as a whisper.
I turned and found Zia standing in front of me, her curls slightly messy, her expression serious in that thoughtful way kids sometimes have when they're figuring something out.
"Would you like some?" she asked.
Before I could respond, she held up her paper cup.
It was nearly empty. Just a chocolatey ring around the bottom, barely enough for a sip.
I didn't know what to do, how to react. My throat tightened, and for a second, I just stared at her.
"I—yeah," I finally managed.
Zia looked down into her cup, then back up at me with wide eyes. "It's empty," she whispered, like she'd just uncovered a grand secret. "Dr. Hot Chocolate, let's go and get you yours."
Before I could reply, she took my hand.
Just like that.
Her tiny fingers curled around mine, soft and warm and trusting. I felt it in my chest like a tiny heartbeat that felt like I couldn't breathe right.
I was still frozen when I felt another small hand grab my other.
I looked down.
Zeal had moved in beside me, rubbing his eyes again. "I want more too," he mumbled, like it was his right.
I looked up at Lia, not knowing what to do.
She gave me a small nod. I could see a tiny smile tug at her lips, but she masked it quickly.
So I nodded back to the kids. "Alright," I said. "Let's go."
They didn't wait. Zia pulled me one way, Zeal the other, and somehow I moved between them, being tugged along like I'd done this before. Like this was just another Saturday.
We walked across the lounge toward the little café stall tucked in the corner, and I tried to ignore how light their hands felt in mine. How real this all felt.
"Dr. Hot Chocolate, can you make it extra warm?" Zia turned to me expectantly.
"Me too!" Zeal echoed. "And I want mallows. Not the hospital ones, the good ones like Mommy has."
"Mmm, the swirly ones," Zia added.
I stood behind them silently. Watching them interact like they'd done this a hundred times. Their laughter blended, little bursts of joy echoing in the hospital halls.
And I felt something crack inside.
How had I missed this? That night at the hospital, when Zia sat on the bench, why didn't I see it then? Her nose, her eyes. My mouth. My damn dimples.
I hadn't noticed it because I hadn't let myself.
But now... I couldn't unsee it.
"You two talk a lot," I muttered with a faint smile.
Zia turned to me with a giggle. "We always talk. Mommy says our brains never rest."
Zeal nodded, sipping from his cup. "We talk in our sleep too."
"Only you do," Zia teased. "You talk about dinosaurs and butts."
"Do not!"
"Do too!"
I laughed. I actually laughed.
They both beamed at the sound like they'd won something.
Then Zeal tilted his head at me, looking thoughtfully at my face.
"You look like me," he said.
Zia turned her head toward me. "You look like both of us."
They both started chuckling like it was the most obvious and funniest thing in the world.
I looked at their faces again. The resemblance was undeniable. "We do, don't we?" I said softly.
Zia offered me her cup. "Do you like mallows in your chocolate?"
I hesitated. I hated sweet things. Could barely stomach hot chocolate, let alone marshmallows.
But then I saw her hopeful face, her expectant smile, those eyes.
"Yes," I said. "I do."
Her smile grew brighter. "Really?"
I nodded. "Really."
And something fluttered in my chest. Something warm and strange and terrifying. Because seeing her happy made me happy.
And I didn't understand that at all.
"Zeal," Zia suddenly gasped, pointing at her brother with exaggerated horror. "You've got a mustache!"
Zeal blinked, confused. "What?"
She giggled. "A chocolate mustache."
Zeal wiped at his upper lip with the back of his sleeve, only smearing it further.
I reached into my coat pocket and pulled out the handkerchief I always carried—an old habit from working long hours and having long days. I crouched down in front of him, careful not to spill my own cup.
"Come here," I said gently.
He stepped forward and tilted his face up. I held his chin steady and wiped the smear of chocolate from his lip, then dabbed at the corner of his mouth.
"You missed a spot," Zia said, pointing again, this time to his cheek.
Zeal turned his face with a little huff. "I didn't even eat it messy."
"You always eat messy," Zia said with a snort.
I chuckled under my breath, then cleaned the last smudge from his cheek. "There," I said. "Clean as new."
Zeal looked up at me. "You sound like Mommy when you do that."
"Oh?" I smiled, folding the handkerchief neatly again. "And what else do I sound like?"
He shrugged. "Like... a daddy person."
I stilled.
It wasn't said with any weight or intent. Just an innocent, offhand comment. But it hit me in the chest all the same.
Before I could say anything, he added, "Are you gonna come with us to get the swirly mallows too?"
"Maybe," I said, keeping my voice steady. "If I'm invited."
"You are," Zia said, matter-of-fact.
Zeal nodded. "Yeah. You're invited forever."
I looked between them. His sticky fingers and soft eyes, her mischievous smile and tiny hands. And for a moment, I let myself believe I could actually belong here.