Page 75 of Sinful Obsession

Asher was fast, zigzagging with precision, while Aria tripped over her own feet, squealing when I tagged her.

“Got you!” I said, scooping her up and spinning her around. But Asher hogged the swing, refusing to let Aria on. “Asher, share the swing,” I rebuked gently but firmly. “We take turns, remember?”

“But I was here first,” he protested, his voice a mini-version of Cassian’s stubbornness.

“No buts,” I said, kneeling to his level. “Kindness first. Let your sister have a go, or no swing for either of you.”

He grumbled but relented, hopping off.

Aria beamed, climbing on with a triumphant “Thanks, Mommy!”

We played until dusk, their energy boundless, mine fueled by the need to distract from Cassian’s call.

As night fell, we settled on the couch for bedtime stories, the kids in their pajamas, snuggled under a blanket.

“Once upon a time,” I began, weaving a tale of a brave princess and her twin dragons, their eyes wide with wonder. But midway, Asher interrupted, his serious face turning thoughtful.

“Mommy, why don’t we have a daddy?” he asked, his voice small. “At school, all the other kids have daddies picking them up. Like Timur’s dad brings treats, and Sofia’s dad plays soccer with her.”

Aria chimed in, her head tilting. “Yeah, Mommy. Is Daddy really dead? Can we visit his grave? I want to put flowers there, like in the stories.”

The questions hit like a punch, pain blooming in my chest.

I’d told them their father was dead years ago, a gentle lie to shield them from the truth of abandonment.

But they kept asking, their innocence a knife twisting in my heart.

“Sweethearts,” I said, my voice soft, forcing a smile. “Daddy... he’s in a better place. We honor him by being strong and kind, okay? Now, let’s finish the story—the princess needs your help to defeat the dragon!”

I switched back, spinning the tale until Aria’s eyes drooped, her head heavy on my arm.

She dozed off first, her breaths even and peaceful.

I carried her to bed, tucking her under the covers with a kiss on her forehead.

Asher followed, laying beside her. “Goodnight, Mommy,” he murmured.

“Goodnight, my loves,” I whispered, kissing them both, my heart swelling with love.

Back in my room, memories crashed over me like waves.

Cassian sending me away six years ago, his words a dagger: the end of us because of a child he refused to claim.

Who would’ve known I carried twins? If I’d aborted, I’d have lost two sweet souls.

They were the best thing that ever happened to me, my light in the darkness.

But pregnancy had been hell—heavier than usual, the twins pressing on my bladder, my back aching constantly, morning sickness that lasted all day.

Single motherhood was a battlefield: sleepless nights with colic, juggling work and daycare, the loneliness of doctor visits alone.

Delivery day haunted me—my water breaking in the apartment, pain ripping through me as I crawled to the phone, dialing the ambulance with shaking hands.

I’d screamed into the void, no one there to hold my hand, as contractions hit like lightning.

The hospital blur of lights and strangers, pushing for hours until Aria and Asher arrived, tiny and perfect. Cassian could’ve been there, his strength beside me, but he’d chosen disbelief.

I’d confirmed the DNA twice—with the hair sample I’d taken from him.