“Mom, please…”

“No.” My voice hardened. “Get your shoes on. We’re going back.”

The drive back to Mercy General was thick with silence. Josh sat in the rear with the twins, who were tucked into the baskets we’d grabbed from our garage.

Upon our arrival, Mrs. Chen was waiting at the doors. Her face was etched with anxiety.

“Margaret, I’m so sorry. Josh just wanted to…”

“It’s okay. Where’s Sylvia?”

“Room 314. But, Margaret, you should know… she’s not doing well. The infection spread faster than we anticipated.”

My stomach did a slow roll. “How bad?”

Mrs. Chen’s silence was answer enough.

We ascended in the elevator without a word. Josh handled both babies with a natural grace, murmuring comforts whenever they stirred.

When we reached Room 314, I tapped lightly and entered. Sylvia looked even more fragile than I’d feared. She was deathly pale, connected to a web of IV lines. She looked no older than 25. The moment she spotted us, she broke down.

“I’m so sorry,” she sobbed. “I didn’t know what else to do. I’m all alone, and I’m so sick, and Derek…”

“I know,” I replied softly. “Josh told me.”

“He just left. When they told him it was twins, when they told him about my complications, he said he couldn’t handle it.” She gazed at the babies Josh was holding. “I don’t even know if I’m going to make it. What happens to them if I don’t?”

Josh answered before I could find the words. “We’ll take care of them.”

“Josh…” I began.

“Mom, look at her. Look at these babies. They need us.”

“Why?” I asked sharply. “Why is this our problem?”

“Because nobody else is!” he yelled, before softening his tone. “Because if we don’t step up, they’re going into the system. Foster care. Separated, maybe. Is that what you want?”

I had no rebuttal for that.

Sylvia reached out a shaky hand toward me. “Please. I know I have no right to ask. But they’re Josh’s brother and sister. They’re family.”

I looked from the tiny infants to my son—who was essentially still a child—and then to the dying woman in the bed.

“I need to make a call,” I declared.

I stepped out to the parking lot to call Derek. He picked up after several rings, sounding irritated.

“What?”

“It’s Margaret. We need to talk about Sylvia and the twins.”

A long silence followed. “How do you know about that?”

“Josh was at the hospital. He saw you leave. What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Don’t start. I didn’t ask for this. She told me she was on birth control. This whole thing is a disaster.”

“They’re your children!”

“They’re a mistake,” he replied with ice in his voice. “Look, I’ll sign whatever papers you need. If you want to take them, fine. But don’t expect me to be involved.”

I ended the call before my temper got the best of me.

An hour later, Derek arrived with a lawyer in tow. He signed the temporary guardianship documents without even glancing at the newborns. He gave me a single, indifferent shrug and said, “They’re not my burden anymore.”

Then he disappeared.

Josh watched his departure with narrow eyes. “I’m never going to be like him,” he said under his breath. “Never.”

That night, we brought the infants home. I had signed legal papers I barely understood, taking on guardianship while Sylvia fought for her life in the hospital.

Josh immediately began preparing his room. He used his personal savings to buy a used crib from a local thrift shop.

“You should be doing homework,” I told him weakly. “Or hanging out with friends.”

“This is more important,” he shot back.

That first week was a blur of exhaustion. The twins—whom Josh had named Lila and Liam—seemed to cry incessantly. There were constant diaper changes and feedings every few hours. Josh took the lead on everything.

“They’re my responsibility,” Josh insisted repeatedly.

“You’re not an adult!” I would snap back, watching him navigate the apartment at 3 AM with a baby in each arm.

But he never uttered a single complaint.

I would often find him in his room during the night, warming milk and whispering stories to the twins about our family life before the divorce.

The exhaustion eventually took its toll; he missed school and his grades began to plummet. His social life vanished as friends stopped calling.

As for Derek? He never picked up the phone again.

Three weeks into our new reality, the situation escalated.

I returned from a shift at the diner to find Josh pacing frantically with a screaming Lila.

“Something’s wrong,” he said urgently. “She won’t stop crying, and she feels hot.”

I touched her skin and felt a wave of dread. “Get the diaper bag. We’re going to the ER. Now.”

The emergency room was a chaotic whirlwind. Lila’s fever hit 103. The staff ran a battery of tests, including X-rays and heart scans.

Josh wouldn’t leave her side for a second. He stood by her incubator with his hand on the glass, tears falling silently.

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