She blinked. He was right. She kissed his forehead and corrected the line, and her heart folded warm in her chest at the absurdity of being audited by someone born four weeks ago.
The other twin padded over from the window seat, holding a picture book upside down, and asked the first great question of the morning.
"So father is in the capital. He is searching for another mother for us?"
The first twin adjusted his tiny spectacles with one tiny hand, an entirely unnecessary gesture he had picked up from somewhere and refused to surrender, and nodded gravely.
"Indeed. Indeed."
Mira sat back and looked at her sons. One month old. One month old and correcting ledgers and speaking of their father's marriage habits with resignation.
'These are not babies. These are small monsters wearing baby skin. My monsters.' She sighed at the ceiling, half pride, half terror, and decided as she did every morning that she would not trade them for a quiet normal life for anything.
