Lola had a dream.
In that dream, instead of the words, "I'm sorry, Miss Young. We can't save them," it was, "Don't worry. Your son is fine."
In that dream, instead of being wheeled to mourn her stillborn child, she was wheeled to see her healthy baby. Instead of grief, her tears were of pure joy as she held her child.
And in that dream, she had raised her baby, and he had grown just like Chacha and Second.
Perhaps that was one of the main reasons why she felt so quickly attached to the twins. Those two were about the same age as Lola's child—if only she had been able to protect him. No wonder the heartbreak of letting them go felt just as painful as when she lost her child.
The only good thing about it was that they were fine. Second and Chacha would be fine. They had a father. Although he was strange, she wanted to believe he was, in his own way, a good one.
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