CHAPTER FOUR: THE NEW NAME
Rain tapped gently against the windows of the little cottage. The scent of pine, warm milk, and baby lotion lingered in the air like a lullaby. In the corner, a fire crackled softly, barely enough to warm the whole room but more than enough to make it feel like home.
There's something absolutely enchanting about twin babies. From the moment they arrive, they bring double the giggles, double the snuggles, and double the love. With their tiny fingers, twinkling eyes, and matching outfits, they are a bundle of joy wrapped in the softest innocence.
Whether they're cuddled side by side in their crib or flashing the same curious smile, twin babies have a way of melting hearts in the most magical way. Their little coos, synchronized stretches, and the way they instinctively reach for each other even in sleep are simply irresistible.
Watching twins grow is like witnessing a beautiful bond blossom right before your eyes. They mirror each other's expressions, share a silent understanding, and radiate a charm that's hard to put into words. From their tiny toes to their giggly grins, everything about them is undeniably adorable.
Twins are not just a blessing , they are a double portion of sweetness, wrapped in love and sprinkled with magic.
One twin was asleep, her little mouth parted in a soft sigh, her fingers curled like petals. The other, her sister the louder of the two was wide awake, blinking up at me with familiar amber eyes that made my heart skip.
Yelena had been right.
They had his eyes.
I didn't know who he truly was,I didn't want to but those eyes haunted me, because they did not look like mine or anyone I knew, even as they smiled up at me now from the face of my child.
My daughter.
Two of them.
My everything.
"Shhh," I whispered as I cradled her against my shoulder, rocking back and forth in the creaky chair Yelena had placed by the hearth. "It's okay, little flame. Mama's got you."
I had started calling them Ember and Nova. Not their real names those I was still searching for, but in the quiet of the retreat, they felt right. Ember, the one with the storm in her lungs and fire in her stare. Nova, her soft, sleepy sister who always curled into me like she belonged there.
I didn't have much.
But I had them.
By the time the babies were two months old, I knew I couldn't stay at the retreat forever. It was safe, yes. But safety wasn't the same as living.
Yelena helped me arrange transport to a small, quiet town nestled by the coast Calderhallow. A place no one would come looking for the disgraced daughter of the Ravenwood estate. No one would think to search for a fallen heiress scrubbing floors and folding laundry in a tiny bed-and-breakfast.
I became Rina Hale. No last name, no trace of the Ravenwood legacy. Just me and the girls, and a past I never talked about.
The town was perfect.
Quiet streets. Friendly faces. People who didn't pry.
Miss Dalia, the bed-and-breakfast owner who took a chance on me, gave me a room in the attic and a job cleaning after guests. She never asked about the girls' father. Just offered me warm food, clean sheets, and understanding eyes.
At night, when Ember cried and Nova whimpered, I walked the floor of that little attic, whispering lullabies I half-remembered from childhood, rocking them in turns until we all fell asleep curled together on the mattress.
There were hard days.
Days I nearly gave up.
When the twins both got sick and I had to beg a clinic nurse for help because I couldn't afford proper care.
When my back ached from scrubbing floors and my fingers bled from folding linens.
When the memory of Zarek's betrayal stabbed me awake in the dark, sweat coating my skin.
But I never cried.
Not in front of my daughters.
Because no matter how broken I was, they needed to believe I was whole.
And slowly… I began to believe it too.
Liora called once a week.
She never asked when I was coming back.
She just talked about mundane things, funny things, and sometimes, she just stayed silent with me on the line.
Those calls kept me breathing.
Sometimes she sent little boxes of second-hand clothes for the babies, a music box, baby formula, even a book of lullabies.
One day, she sent me a necklace with a simple charm that read: "Mama. Stronger than she knows."
I wore it every day.
I never told the girls about their father.
What could I say?
That their mother had been set up and humiliated on her birthday?
That the man who'd taken her was a stranger with kind hands and haunting eyes?
That somehow, that night gave her the only thing worth living for?
No.
They didn't need that story.
Not yet.
They only needed me.
Nova took her first step on a chilly evening in early spring. Her wobbly legs tottered forward as I held out my arms, my heart pounding like a drum.
Ember followed the next week more confident, almost defiant, toppling over and laughing when she fell.
Those little moments stitched pieces of me back together.
Some nights, after they'd fallen asleep, I would sit by the window and stare up at the stars.
Wondering.
Was he still alive?
Did he even know what he'd done that night?
Was it an accident… or something else?
Sometimes, I swore I saw a shadow watching from across the street a tall figure standing still beneath the lamppost, like a ghost waiting for permission to cross.
But every time I blinked… it vanished.
Still, life moved on.
My girls were growing fast.
So was I.
The scared, broken woman who once clutched a pregnancy test in a dirty bathroom mirror… she was fading.
And in her place stood a mother.
A survivor.
A flame that wouldn't die.