Too Late To Love Me I Already Left With His Twins (Lydia and Dave) novel Chapter 38

Water Broke

Lydia POV

After the issue with the anonymous call at work, life settled into something almost predictable.

Not peaceful.

Just predictable.

Clara remained committed to being the physical embodiment of a workplace curse.

She still found new ways to stress me out at least twice a week.

She still assigned me tasks that were somehow urgent and impossible at the same time.

She still smiled whenever she thought she had cornered me.

But by then, I had learned how to survive her.

Which was unfortunate for her, honestly.

Three months into living in my tiny apartment in a country that still did not fully feel like mine, I was lying in bed one night doomscrolling through pregnancy forums when a post stopped me cold.

How many weeks should you be before registering for antenatal care? 1

My stomach dropped.

Then dropped harder as I read.

I sat up so fast my back protested.

“Oh my God.”

My hand flew to my stomach.

“How did I forget?”

Guilt hit me instantly.

Hot and vicious.

Because how had I been so consumed with rent, work, surviving, proving I could do this

That I forgot the actual tiny person I was doing it for?

I spent the rest of that night spiraling.

Was the baby okay?

Had I harmed them somehow?

Had stress hurt them?

Had all the skipped meals and overtime and panic and exhaustion already done damage?

I barely slept.

The next morning, I registered at the nearest clinic before work.

The waiting room smelled aggressively of disinfectant and old magazines.

A hutse called my name eventually and looked at my file.

Then looked at me

Then back at the file.

“You’re only registering now?”

I swallowed.

“Yes.”

Her brows rose.

“Why?”

Heat crawled up my neck.

“I’ve been… busy settling in.”

She gave me the kind of look only nurses can give.

The one that made you feel simultaneously judged and mothered.

“Do you have support at home?”

The question caught me off guard.

I blinked.

“What?”

“Your husband? Family?” she asked gently. “You seem to be doing this alone.”

My throat tightened.

Images flashed before I could stop them.

Dave standing behind that desk.

Cold eyes.

Women in situations like yours…

We’ll handle it.

I forced a smile.

“Oh. No. It’s fine.”

The nurse held my gaze for a second too long.

Then nodded like she knew I was lying and decided not to press.

The doctor was kinder.

Warm smile.

Soft hands.

Practical voice.

She reviewed my chart, asked questions, examined me thoroughly.

+20 Bonus

+20 Bonus

Then shr smiled.

“Everything looks fine sutar

I nearly cried from relief.

She handed me prescriptions.

Prenatals.

Iron.

Diet recommendations.

Instructions I wrote down like my life depended on it.

Because right then, it felt like it did.

Before I left, she asked gently,

“Would you like to know the gender when the time comes?”

I shook my head immediately.

“No.”

She smiled.

“Surprise?”

1 rubbed my stomach.

“As long as the baby is healthy, I don’t care.”

And I meant that.

Boy.

It became logistical.

Measured in appointments and symptoms and how many times a day I needed to pee.

My afternoons came with exhaustion so violent I sometimes sat in office bathroom stalls and stared at the wall until I could trust my legs again.

My feet swelled.

• 20) BOLLS

My inat hack hated me.

My emotions developed absolutely no professionalism whatsoever.

I stood there with tears in my eyes holding citrus like a madwoman.

Pregnancy was deeply humbling.

Work did not care.

Clara certainly didn’t.

“You’re waddling now,” she said one afternoon with visible satisfaction.

“You’re aging now,” I replied. 3

The office went silent.

“Baby looks good.”

Words I lived for.

Then go home and stare at them in bed.

Telling my children about the life I was trying to build for us.

Promising things I prayed I could keep.

The work.