Seeing her settled down with the children in her arms, Davis sighed with quiet relief.

He glanced briefly at the women who stood some distance away, lingering in silence. "Don't worry about them," he said softly, his gaze sliding back to the little trio before him. "She might want to spend some time with them."

His eyes warmed as he stepped closer. "Do you mind if I help you carry one of them?"

Jessica's gaze swept over the two babies, their distinct features that marked them apart from the other tugged at her heart.

With their unfocused gaze fixed on her face as though to see her, her chest tightened, and she shook her head in refusal, hugging them closer.

"I have missed them a lot," she admitted, her voice catching. "Though I never knew they were the reason…I felt lost." Her voice cracked but as she watched their tiny hands wriggle against the blankets, a soft smile played on her lips.

Davis shook his head. "Don't you think I have also missed and neglected them myself?" his tone was soft and remorseful.

The days he spent at the hospital beside her had left him with just a minimal opportunity to be with them or even to hold them properly in his arms.

When they were in the NICU, he visited them at intervals and spoke to them. At some point, they had became his only confidants, his silent comfort, his little "garbage bag" for everything he couldn't say aloud.

He would spend the brief moment he had with them telling them how much their mother loved them.

How unbearable and painful it was to see her lying in the ICU fighting for her life.

Yet he was powerless and couldn't do anything to save her.

At other times, words failed him, and he would simply stand there, watching the fragile rise and fall of their tiny chests while his tears slid silently down his face.

Those visits had always been riddled with pain, frustration, and helplessness.

In the shadow of his despair, he had rarely paused to appreciate them, to truly see them as God's gift, to see them as two miracles accompanying him in his wait while clinging to the hope of another.

He never had the chance to bother about what they look like or to appreciate them as God's gift in his moment of waiting for a miracle.

He had always placed their mother above them, not like he would change that now

After their discharge and return home, his time with them had only shrunk further becoming less and less as the days passed by.

His days slowly blurred into a routine; arriving from the hospital at seven, slipping into the nursery to spend thirty minutes with them, then rushing through his bath and dressing in ten minutes.

By the time he was ready, Deborah would be waiting at the door with his breakfast packed in a thermo, and soon after, he would be gone again, not returning until the same hour the next day.

At some point, the babies seemed to adapt to his rhythm and their timing adjusted to his time.

Whenever he comes in, he would find them awake wriggling their tiny hands, and their familiar soft coo sound as though they were greeting him with a tender "good morning."

Now, standing here and with a glance backwards, Davis felt a sharp ache in his chest.

He had failed them, failed to truly be present for them. Failed to appreciate them for being strong. The guilt pressed heavier than ever, and he silently vowed to make it up to them.

Jessica's gentle voice broke through his storm of thoughts. "No matter what, you have spent more time with them than I did." She smirked faintly, though her eyes shone with sadness.

Davis exhaled deeply and pulled a rocking chair closer, lowering himself beside her. His gaze softened as it settled on the two little dumplings nestled against her bosom. He silently and reverently traced every feature of their small faces.

The boy, wrapped halfway up to his tummy, bore every imprint of his father; deep eyes, a straight nose, sharp jawline, and a startlingly cold expression, as if the world owed him something already.

The baby girl was in no way less striking. She was her mother's mirror, a replica of Jessica…onyx eyes flecked with honey, ebony hair though still curled due to age, and the same delicate warmth.

It would be far easier to say they had been carved from the same mold.

"Babe, let me hold her," Davis murmured after a quiet stretch of time.

Jessica arched a brow. "Why ask for her? Shouldn't you be more worried about your heir?"

Davis nodded with a small smirk. "I am. But I'm more concerned about my little girl."

Jessica's lips quirked. "I guess you have an uncommon trait."

She found herself wondering why he seemed so eager and much interested to hold their daughter instead of their son. In many families, boys were prized above all, but here he was, breaking the mold effortlessly.

"I think he should understand early that he has a major role in protecting his baby sister," Davis retorted lightly.

As though in agreement with Davis' words, the little boy cooed softly, and they laughed.

Cradling the twins, they talked and laughed together, the atmosphere of the nursery was warm with joy.

The boundaries of memory loss bridged as they found warmth and relief in the bundles of joy in their arms.

Sunlight filtered through the curtains, its golden glow draping over the family of four, casting a picture of rare serenity and peace…enough to make anyone envious.

"Babe," Davis called softly. Jessica lifted her gaze, their eyes meeting and locking for a heartbeat before she looked away as her heart fluttered "What's the problem?"

"They have no names," Davis said after a pause, his voice low. His gaze was fixed on the little girl in his arms, her tiny fingers curled tightly around his own, which he twirled gently.

Jessica felt her breath caught in her throat. Her gaze softened as she stared down at them, with soft caress she patted their cheeks warmly.

"Forgive mom, she slept for a long time," she murmured, but the next moment she froze.

"Did I just say 'Mom'?" Her brow furrowed at the word as her thoughts raced. It had escaped her lips so fast and natural beyond her expectation, leaving her at a loss of words.

"Wait… I am a mother now, right?"

Seeing her spacing out, Davis' lips curled up with amusement. He had glanced at her the moment she spoke but when no panic followed he let out a relieved sigh.

Seeing her instinctively accept the children naturally was enough for him and had raised his hope of a better day closeby. "You don't have to be surprised," he reassured gently. "You've always talked to them, even before they were born."

Jessica lifted her gaze, searching his. "You mean… I usually talked to them before the accident?" she asked, trying to picture how beautiful such moments might have been and possibly if they had any reaction and how she felt.

Did they kick in response?

Did she laugh?

Did her heart swell as it did now?

With no recollection of the memory, her face fell, but then her resolve to recover her memory burned brighter. She would recover them, piece by piece, no matter how long it took.

A thought flashed across her mind. "If I had always talked to them, was there any name we agreed to give them?" she asked hopefully.

Perhaps in one of those tender talks, she had whispered a name …something from the heart.

Davis shook his head. "Actually, you never knew they were two, you are supposed to repeat the ultrasound scan before the encounter," he explained.

Jessica nodded slowly in understanding. "Alright then. You choose a name for your daughter, while I choose one for my son." She smirked playfully.

Davis' eyes narrowed with mischief. "Why do I feel you're only going to treat your son like a prince, while my daughter…" He let the words trail, teasingly.

"I never knew a full-grown man could still be jealous of his own son," she shot back with a grin.

"I am not jealous," Davis replied smoothly, though his eyes glinted with amusement.

Jessica lowered her gaze to the baby in her arms, her lips softening into a smile. "Sweetie, don't mind your dad…he's brimming with jealousy."

Davis shook his head in mock defeat. "So?"

Jessica drew in a slow breath, closed her eyes briefly, and when she opened them again, her voice was gentle but firm as she uttered three syllables "Damian."

Davis' lips curved, his eyes softening as he gazed at the little girl in his arms, her arms wriggling, her unfocused gaze trained on him "Jasmine," he said with quiet certainty.