ANYA POV:

The whispers from the next bed and Keenan's cold voice played on a loop in my head. I lay awake all night, staring at the ceiling until it turned a pale, sickly gray.

When the morning nurse came to the ward, she saw my pale face and my red, swollen eyes. She sighed and urged me to eat something for the children.

I mechanically scooped up the oatmeal from the hospital bowl and put it into my mouth. It was tasteless, just like swallowing my own humiliation.

My thoughts drifted back, unbidden, to how this marriage began.

I was the Hayes family's adopted daughter, a permanent outsider. They provided food, shelter, and an education, but never any real love.

I met Keenan at a charity gala. He was the star hockey player, bathed in the spotlight. I was the unremarkable girl in the corner.

His pursuit had been flattering. I thought I was Cinderella, meeting my prince. Looking back now, he just needed a docile, obedient wife with a simple background to decorate his public image.

And Kinley, the Hayes's biological daughter, my adoptive sister, she was an angel in public and a demon in private, tormenting me in the cruelest ways.

After we got married, Keenan moved her into our home, using the excuse that "Kinley just had a breakup and needs company."

Until one day, how the recommendation letter for my application to Le Cordon Bleu in Paris had mysteriously vanished. Later, I saw Kinley in a local fashion campaign, using a portfolio with a design concept eerily similar to mine.

From that day on, our house was no longer my home. Keenan's eyes always followed Kinley. I became the extra, the inconvenient wife.

Later,Keenan had thrown a divorce agreement in front of me, right after I'd found out I was pregnant. "Anya, Kinley is pregnant with my child," he'd said. "We need to give the baby a legitimate family. Sign it. Don't make this difficult for me."

Then I had always refused, naively believing that a child might win back his heart.

What a joke.

I looked down at the tiny baby in my arms, the other sleeping peacefully beside me.

They didn't deserve to grow up in a loveless home filled with lies.

A divorce. I had to get a divorce.

Suddenly Nurse Miller walked in,"Mrs. Knight, the head of obstetrics, Dr. Sinclair, is coming for rounds."

I was surprised. The department head usually only visited VIPs or patients with special cases. I was just an ordinary new mother.

A few minutes later, a distinguished man in a white coat entered. He was around fifty, with gold-rimmed glasses and a gentle but sharp, assessing gaze.

This was Julian Sinclair.

He walked to my bedside and smiled. "Good morning, Mrs. Knight. How are you feeling?" His voice was warm, a stark contrast to everyone else's indifference.

"I'm fine, thank you, Dr. Sinclair," I replied, a little overwhelmed.

His gaze fell on the two bassinets beside me, and his eyes instantly softened, a flicker of emotion crossing his face. "May I see the children?"

I nodded. He leaned over, looking at my son and daughter with an intensity that felt personal.

"They are beautiful," he said softly. "They look like you." His eyes returned to my face, studying my features carefully.

I felt a little uncomfortable under his scrutiny and instinctively looked away.

Perhaps due to the awkward atmosphere at that moment, Nurse Miller tried to lighten the mood by smiling and telling me that the person who signed the informed consent form for my family members was Dr. Sinclair.

I was suddenly shocked. It turned out that the person who signed that informed consent form for the family members was Dr. Sinclair.

But why would he do such a thing? We had never seen him act like this before. Why would he save me?

Before I could ask any questions，he walked to my bedside, "Ms. Hayes, may I ask you a few questions?"

I was confused but nodded.

"Your family... I mean, your biological parents. Do they have any particular medical history?" he asked.

I shook my head, a bitter taste in my mouth. "I don't know. I'm an orphan. I was adopted."

Julian's seemed more excited when he heard this answer. "And your blood type? Do you know it?"

I replied. " O-negative with the Rh-negative factor. The nurses mentioned it's rare."

Hearing this, Julian's hand clenched into a fist. He adjusted his glasses, trying to calm his breathing.

His reaction was deeply strange. Why would the Head of Obstetrics be so interested in my background and blood type?

He looked at my face, as if seeing someone else through me, and murmured, "So similar, truly so similar..."

I grew even more bewildered. "Doctor, is there a problem?"

Julian snapped back to the present, offering me a reassuring smile. "No, nothing. Just confirming some medical information. You should get some rest."

He turned and left the ward, his pace much quicker than when he had arrived.

I watched him leave, and a strange feeling pierced through my back. Something wasn’t right, but I couldn’t put my finger on what exactly. His questions, his gaze… everything was too strange.

And also, why did he sign that notice of family consent, essentially guaranteeing my life?

A sense of foreboding settled over me.

ANYA POV:

I tried to push Julian's odd behavior out of my mind, focusing all my attention on my two babies.

I clumsily learned how to feed them, how to change their diapers. Nurse Miller was patient, her presence the only warmth I felt in this cold, sterile place.

In the afternoon, the ward door opened again. Julian was back.

He was followed by two nurses pushing a hospital bed that looked far more advanced and comfortable than mine.

My stomach tightened. I thought something was wrong with me or the babies, that we needed to be moved to a special care unit.

Julian walked to my bedside, his face holding a smile I couldn't understand, a mixture of joy and heartache. "Ms. Hayes, we're moving you to a different room."

I'm a little anxious, "Why? Is my children’s health..."

He cut me off, his tone gentle but firm. "No, you and the children are fine. It's just that this environment is too noisy. It's not conducive to your recovery."

I felt a pang of anxiety. "But... I don't have the money for a private room." Keenan never gave me extra money. My credit card limit wouldn't cover the cost of an expensive private room.

Julian's expression dimmed for a moment, then his voice became even softer. "Don't worry about the cost. Everything has been arranged. Consider it humanitarian care from the hospital for a special case."

The reason sounded flimsy, but his demeanor left no room for argument.

The families at the other beds watched with curiosity, whispering among themselves. Their stares made me uncomfortable.

Two nurses efficiently packed my few belongings, while another carefully lifted my babies and placed them in a wheeled, temperature-controlled nursery cart.

I was helped onto the new bed. The mattress was incredibly soft, the blanket a light, downy quilt.

Led by Julian, we left the noisy ward.

We didn't go to the regular patient floors. Instead, we took a private elevator that required a special key card.

The elevator ascended smoothly, stopping at the top floor. When the doors opened, I gasped.

This didn't look like a hospital at all. It was more like the executive floor of a five-star hotel. Thick carpets muffled our footsteps, art hung on the walls, and the air was filled with the faint scent of fresh flowers.

The corridor was silent.

Julian pushed open a door at the end of the hall and gestured for me to enter.

It was a massive suite, with a separate living area, a bedroom, and a fully equipped kitchenette. A huge floor-to-ceiling window offered a breathtaking view of the Boston skyline.

Sunlight streamed in, making the entire room bright and warm.

It was heaven compared to my previous bed, which didn't even have a view of the sky.

I was too stunned to speak, just staring at the scene before me.

The nurses placed my babies in the high-end cribs that were already set up in the bedroom, then quietly left, closing the door behind them.

Only Julian and I remained in the suite.

I finally found my voice, my words trembling. "Doctor... what is all this? I can't afford this, I..."

Julian walked over to me, his eyes a little red. He took an envelope from his pocket and handed it to me.

His voice was thick with emotion. "Child, you deserve all of this, and so much more. Because you are not an orphan."

My gaze fell to the envelope. The words "DNA Test Report" were printed on it. My heart began to pound against my ribs.

I looked up, meeting his gaze, which was full of expectation and apology.

He spoke slowly, his voice thick with an emotion he could no longer suppress. "Before you open it, I want you to be prepared. What's in this report will change your life completely."

"We... your family... we've been looking for you for many years."

My mind went blank. I couldn't process the weight of his words. Family? My family?

My knuckles were white from gripping the manila envelope. It felt as if it weighed a thousand pounds.

"My... family?" I repeated the word, a foreign concept on my tongue.

Julian sat on the sofa next to me, maintaining a respectful but close distance. His voice was filled with a mix of nostalgia and sorrow.

He began to tell a story that had been buried for over two decades.