Page 102 of Filthy Rich Daddies

“They’re perfect,” I answer. “So are you.”

She smiles, soft and slow. Exhausted. “We’re six now.”

I nod. A family of six. Just like that.

An hour later, the room is warm with quiet joy. The twins sleep curled up in their clear cradles—one beside her, one closer to Tic and me. Colin has propped a blanket against the window to block out the worst of the afternoon sun. Thalassa is sipping apple juice through a bendy straw, dazed.

“They need names,” she says softly. “Real ones. For the paperwork.”

We all look at each other. We’ve talked about this.

Each of us will contribute a name. One first. One middle. “I’ll go first,” she says. “Middle name for baby one. James.”

Colin grins. “After your dad?”

She nods. “He deserves it.”

“I’ll take her first name then,” he says, still rocking the bassinet slightly with his foot. “Calla.”

Thalassa’s head turns. “Calla James?”

“Like the flower,” he says. “But sharp. Pretty but strong.”

She smiles. “Perfect.”

Tic clears his throat, then glances at the second twin. “Middle name for this one… Delphine. If that’s okay with you.”

Thalassa’s eyes soften. “Serena’s middle name?”

He nods. There’s a silence. Not heavy. Just full.

Then I speak. “Her first name… Aurelia.”

Thalassa repeats it slowly. “Aurelia Delphine.”

I don’t mean for my chest to tighten, but it does. I look away.

She says both names aloud again, as if to test how they sound when shouted from a hallway or whispered during bedtime. “Calla and Aurelia,” she murmurs. Then she hiccups a giggle. “We made people.”

Tic huffs softly. “You made them. We just panicked and offered snacks.”

She laughs, eyes crinkling. “Don’t minimize. You were there. Every second. All of you.”

“We were,” I say, “and we will always be.” With a new vegan diet and rigorous exercise plan, and maybe a trip to some guru who can teach me how to live forever, I might make that promise into a reality.

She reaches for my hand again. I take it, without hesitation. “We should sign the birth certificates,” she says. “Before I fall asleep.”

I nod and rise, helping her adjust her position in bed while the nurse wheels in the forms. Colin offers to fill in the details. I add the time of birth. Tic writes down the full names in his careful, deliberate script.

And just like that, they become real. Not just daughters. Not just twins.

They are ours.

After the paperwork is done, the nurses come and go in waves—checking vitals, recording feeds, gently adjusting Thalassa’s monitors. I remain at her side, helping where I can. I’ve never seen someone look so tired and still so radiant.

She dozes lightly. Not quite asleep. Not quite awake.

And I can’t stop looking at the babies. Aurelia and Calla. Two entirely new lives. Two voices, two sets of eyes, two futures curled in fleece blankets.