Page 53 of Fake Wife for Dr. Secret Daddy

“There you go again, man. Take a chill pill. With all this negative energy, you're preventing the breeze.”

I laugh again, watching as he gets up from his chair to take another beer.

“Hey man, was that allowed in the military? Drinking multiple beers?”

“You know nothing about the military, young man. Please pipe down.”

“If you drink at this rate, you'll be losing those abs in a few days.”

It is his turn to laugh, and I also drink the remaining contents of my bottle. I get up to take another bottle from the table.

I open my beer, happy that my best friend and soon-to-be brother-in-law are sitting with me, drinking like old times.

CHAPTER 22

Winnie

I am wondering if I should wake my children and feed them again. As Ted hinted some days ago, I seem obsessed with feeding them.

I can't blame myself, though; who wouldn't be obsessed with feeding their children when, a month ago, they didn't even know they existed?

I want them to be chubby, healthy children with strong white teeth. I want us to be a lovely family with a handsome and caring father and two beautiful children.

I sigh loudly, knowing if somebody had told me on my 20th birthday that I would end up getting pregnant with Ted and giving birth that same year, I would have looked at the person as if the person was sick in the head.

Life had its plans for me because here I am, my two children by my side, their feeding bottles in my hands.

I smile, acknowledging that life is indeed a whirlwind. It happens in the twinkle of an eye, and before you know it, you are where you are, wondering how you managed to get there.

I decide to return the feeding bottles, deciding against feeding them. It hasn't been up to two hours since their last meal. If I feed them at this rate, they'll call them fat on the first day of school.

And I can’t wait to go back to college once they start school. I want to become a healthcare administrator like Ted’s mom, someday.

I shake my head. I do not want that for my precious little darlings.

I thought about the party, and I am happy that it was well coordinated. If, more than anything, I have always thought about that moment celebrating with them and seeing everyone partaking in our joy, it is a beautiful thing to watch.

Seeing Grace with her grandchildren had been something of joy. I take note to make sure when they are grown, they continue to visit her regularly.

Going into the kitchen, I pour the remnants of the feed into the sink and put on the faucet, flushing it. I then proceed to wash them clean.

I remember my time at the inpatient care facility, and I know I have come a long way with my children.

My time at the facility is something I never look forward to again. The humming of the medical equipment and the continuous chatter of the patients and nurses, the physical therapy I had to undergo to aid my recovery.

I try not to think about it, but my mind refuses to unsee it.

It had been hell there, knowing that I had just given birth and waking up to silence. Not a sound from my child. It had been a crazy time, and I remember vividly thinking about going to the window and ending it all by jumping over.

I sigh loudly, knowing that it was my sheer will and determined spirit that got me out of there. The nurse who took care of me, too, with her daily words of encouragement and the cheerful smiles she directed to me each day–pure bliss.

I wonder what Luna and Isla will think when they grow up and learn their stories. Luna is more like her father, and I know she will act just like her father, surprised and eager to know more. Isla is more like me, and I believe she will be calm about it, ready to listen, not eager to speak.

It shows in their sucking of the feeding bottle, their personalities. While Isla sucks slowly and quietly, Luna is overbearing, pushing my hand anytime I try to assist her with the bottle.

It also shows in their crying. Luna hardly cries, but when she does, it is something else. The wails can be heard from a mile away, so I let her be whenever she pushes my hand from the feeding bottle or spoon. Isla, on the other hand, cries softly.

My children are my world, and I wonder what my life would've been without them.

---