Lily and Lucas

ADRIAN

The contractions started at 2 AM.

I woke to Vivian's gasp of pain, her hand clutching her belly. "Adrian. Something's happening."

I'd been sleeping on the couch, giving her my bed. In just three days, we'd fallen into an unexpected partnership; helping her escape. Over a week later, here I was, planning her revenge, preparing for the babies, building trust.

I also hadn't told her the truth about why I helped her.

"How far apart are the contractions?" I asked, moving to check her.

"I don't know… I don't know…" Another wave of pain crossed her face. "Oh God. Is it really happening?"

"Babies come when they want to come. Yours seem to want to come now."

I'd prepared for this. Sterilized equipment in my bathroom. Clean towels. Emergency medical supplies. I was an OB/GYN, but I'd never planned to deliver babies in my apartment.

"We need to go to the hospital," Vivian said through gritted teeth.

"We can't. Derek has people watching every hospital in the city. The moment you're admitted, they'll find you."

"Then what do we do?" She panted.

"I deliver them here. I've done this a thousand times. You're in good hands."

Vivian looked terrified. "What if something goes wrong?"

"Nothing will go wrong. I promise."

That was a lie. Home births were risky, especially with twins. Especially when the mother had been under severe stress for months. But we had no choice.

Over the next five hours, I coached Vivian through labor. She was incredibly strong, determined, refusing to scream even when I knew the pain was overwhelming.

"You can scream," I told her. "No one will judge you."

"If I start screaming, I won't stop," she gasped. "I'll scream about everything. About Derek. About Claire. About my grandfather. About how everyone I trusted destroyed me."

"Then scream about that. Let it out."

She did. At hour six, she was crying and begging for it to be over.

The first came out at 8:47 a.m.

Her son, screaming and perfect and alive.

At 9:03 a.m., her daughter followed.

Quieter than her brother, but just as perfect.

She called them Lily and Lucas as I placed them on her chest.

“These babies…” she said between sobs, “genetically Claire and Derek's, but mine in every way that mattered. I'd carried them. I'd protected them. I'd fought for them. They are mine.”

I let her have her moment before reminding her about the DNA test to prove the egg fraud. I took cheek swabs from both twins, from Vivian, and kept them with samples I had obtained from Derek and Claire when they threatened me in my office for Vivian's escape.

"Results will take forty-eight hours," I said. "But Vivian... what if they're really not genetically yours?"

"They're mine regardless." She looked at her sleeping babies. "But I need the DNA results to prove the fraud."

Three days later, I handed her the envelope with shaky hands.

Her face went pale when she opened it.

"What?" I demanded. "What does it say?"

"Lucas is Derek and Claire's genetic child. But Lily..." She looked up at me, eyes wide. "Lily is genetically mine. Mine and Derek's."

“What? There must be a mistake somewhere.”

But she didn't seem to care. She was laughing, crying, then both at once.

She cried about it being heaven's way of going easy on her, and now, she was more than determined to finish everything up as fast as possible.

"I'm going to make them confess. And then I'm going to take everything they tried to steal from me."

Over the next two weeks, she involved me in all her plans. I helped her set up the trap, praying she doesn’t notice my nervousness and occasional distraction.

"What's wrong?" She asked one night.

"Nothing. Just... worried about you. About what happens next." I tried hiding the fear in my eyes, but I could tell just from her face that she saw it.

‘I am sorry, Vivian.’