Page 49
We sat on Winter’s terrace, or maybe I should say our terrace now, because I had really settled in here for good. Funny how easily things fall into place when you meet your Mr. Right.
The apartment felt lived-in now: half of it smelled faintly of mint tea and baby lotion, and the other half was permanently taken over by folded blankets, wipes, burp cloths, and packs of diapers.
Both of our little ones were latched onto me, one on each side, warm and content and making those quiet, rhythmic suckling sounds that always made me melt a little inside. Winter and I took turns chestfeeding them, not just for balance, but because it let us bond with both of them. We wanted them to feel equally connected to each of us from the start.
I stroked their small, fuzzy heads while they nursed, feeling their soft breaths against my skin. Their first hairs were just starting to grow in, nearly identical in color—a pale, minty green, like summer ice cream. Winter was ridiculously pleased they’d inherited that part of the greenish-blue spectrum from me. But what really made him particularly happy was their dark mint-colored eyebrows and lashes, just like mine.
He’d admitted one night, almost sheepishly, that he’d worried they might get his almost-invisible features. I told him I loved his light coloring, and that I would’ve loved to see it in our children too. Winter went quiet, pensive for a while, a kind of intensely happy energy pulsing through him. I could feel that my words had given him a deep sense of satisfaction. He knew, without a doubt, that I loved and accepted him exactly as he was. He was no longer a ridiculed albino, but the heart of my world.
I kept stroking the small heads of our boys.
They indeed really did look like twins! Technically, they weren’t, but you couldn’t convince anyone of that by looking at them. They were two little miracles, tiny mashups of our faces, and coloring, and expressions.
Not long ago, I pulled an old T-shirt out of my drawer, the first one I had drawn a design for, depicting an elven prince and two mint-haired boys. I told him I’d sketched it without thinking, like it had come from somewhere else entirely. Then I’d heat-pressed the image onto the chest of the shirt, not expecting it to mean anything.
Winter just stared when I gave it to him.
His fingers skimmed over the small faces of the sketched twins, looking a bit stunned.
"It’s really… the hands of Fate in this," he murmured, his eyes fixed intently on the picture. "Fate set us on a collision course and just never stopped pushing."
And now here they were.
Not just imagined, not just sketched, real, alive, nursing against my chest in the soft sunlight of an ordinary-extraordinary afternoon. Because each day together was special. I watched my boys and thought: I knew you before you even existed.
Winter approached me with a smoothie in hand, the straw already tucked in, and held it up for me. I took a long sip, grateful. It was the usual blend, blueberries and mint, icy cold, sharp and sweet. His casual way of saying, "I see you."
He sat beside me and leaned in, brushing his arm gently against mine, careful not to disturb the babies. One of them kicked a little in his sleep, still latched, still nursing with that lazy determination newborns have when they’re both full and somehow still hungry.
Winter glanced at them, then at me. His smile was soft, the kind that came without thinking. The kind that reached his eyes.
"This image," he said quietly, "I want it burned into my memory. Even on the day I die, I want to be able to recall this. The three extraordinary people who changed my life forever."
He kissed my cheek, still careful, then rested his forehead lightly against mine.
We didn’t need big words.
Our eyes met, and we smiled.
"We made it, Winter," I said, my voice a little lower.
He nodded. "Yes, we did."
By the way…
Our boys were named in honor of the people who saved our lives: Summer Lake and Snow Aiden. Without them, we would’ve shattered on that freezing ocean, just two lost souls with no future.
But we didn’t. We lived. We prevailed.
From the moment we were rescued from the island, Winter and I had each made a quiet decision: to live every day like it was a gift. Not just to survive, but to truly live . Not in fear or doubt, but with gratitude, with love, and with appreciation.
Now, out here on the terrace, with my love beside me and our two sleepy, nursing sons in my arms, that promise felt fulfilled.
We were here. Safe. Forever connected.
Our little family was its own island now, not frozen or lonely anymore, but a tropical oasis, full of love, hope, and the sweetness of everyday life.
"I love you," I said, beaming at him.
"And I love you," he replied, so easily, like it had always been there. And maybe it had?
Hidden like a precious gem... that was now mine.
In the Heart of Winter.
THE END
Dear Reader,
Thank you so much for reading my book! I hope Sariel and Winter's story brought you joy.
Table of Contents
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- Page 49 (Reading here)