Chapter 64 The Twins React to Marnie Singing for the First Time
969 Words
Marnie never thought much about her voice.
She knew she could carry a tune well enough, that she sang softly when she was alone, usually when she was nervous or overwhelmed. Singing had always been something private—something she did without thinking, without expecting anyone to listen.
But pregnancy had changed many things.
Including how quiet moments suddenly felt louder.
That evening, rain tapped gently against the windows of the condo, the city lights blurred by mist. The world outside felt distant, muted, as though everything had slowed down to match her breathing.
Marnie sat on the edge of the bed, brushing her hair slowly, absently. Her belly felt heavy tonight, full in a way that tugged at her lower back. The twins had been restless again earlier, stretching and shifting as though testing their growing space.
Michael stood by the window, arms crossed loosely, watching the rain. He looked calmer than he had in weeks—no pacing, no frantic checking of his watch, no medical overanalysis. Just a quiet presence.
“You okay?” he asked gently without turning.
She nodded. “Just… tired.”
He moved toward her immediately. “Do you want to lie down? I can—”
She smiled faintly. “Stay. Just sit with me for a moment.”
He sat beside her, his knee brushing hers. His hand found her belly instinctively, fingers warm, grounding.
They stayed like that in silence for a while.
Then, without realizing she was doing it, Marnie hummed.
It was barely audible at first—a soft sound, more breath than melody. Something slow and gentle. Something her mother used to sing when she was a child, on nights when thunder scared her.
Michael’s head lifted slightly.
She didn’t notice.
She kept humming, eyes unfocused, her hand resting protectively over her belly as the tune slowly took shape. It wasn’t polished or practiced—it wavered a little, dipped in places—but it was sincere.
And then—
THUMP.
Marnie froze.
Michael felt it too.
Another kick followed, then a rolling movement that spread across her belly.
She inhaled sharply. “Michael…”
He turned fully toward her. “They moved?”
“They kicked,” she whispered. “Hard.”
She stopped humming.
The movement stilled.
Michael frowned slightly. “Try again.”
She hesitated. “What if I imagined it?”
“Just try,” he said softly.
She took a breath and began again—this time singing the words quietly, her voice trembling just a little at first. The melody filled the room gently, wrapping around them like something warm and familiar.
Almost instantly—
THUD. THUMP.
Both sides of her belly responded.
Marnie gasped, tears springing to her eyes. “Oh my God… Michael, they’re reacting.”
Michael stared at her stomach as it had just revealed a miracle.
“They’re responding to you,” he whispered.
She kept singing, her voice steadier now, emotion weaving through every note. With each verse, the twins moved—soft kicks, gentle shifts, almost rhythmic.
It felt intentional.
Alive.
Connected.
Michael reached out slowly, placing his hand over hers on her belly. The movement didn’t stop.
“They know you,” he said quietly. “They recognize your voice.”
Marnie’s voice broke slightly on the next line, overwhelmed. “I didn’t know they could…”
“They’ve heard you for months,” he said gently. “Your voice. Your breathing. Your heart.”
She swallowed, tears slipping down her cheeks as she continued to sing, softer now. Every note felt like a promise she hadn’t known she was making.
The twins responded again—stronger this time, like they were reaching back.
Michael’s chest tightened painfully.
“I’ve seen patients respond to familiar sounds,” he said quietly. “But this… this is different.”
She finished the song slowly, letting the final note fade into silence.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then—
A long, slow roll beneath her skin.
Both twins are settling.
Michael let out a shaky breath. “They calmed down.”
Marnie laughed softly through tears. “I think… I think they like it.”
“I think,” he said, his voice thick, “they love you.”
She looked at him then, really looked at him.
His eyes were shining, his expression unguarded, raw in a way she rarely saw. The man who was always composed, always in control, looked undone by something as simple as her voice.
“They already know their mother,” he continued. “Before they even see you.”
She reached for his face, her thumb brushing his cheek. “You’re going to make me cry again.”
He leaned into her touch. “I cry too,” he admitted quietly. “I just hide it better.”
She smiled and leaned forward, resting her forehead against his.
“They’re lucky,” she whispered. “To have you.”
He shook his head slightly. “No. I’m the lucky one.”
Later that night, when they lay in bed, Marnie rested on her side facing him. His arm was draped protectively over her, his hand spread across her belly.
“Sing again?” he asked softly.
She smiled shyly. “You really want me to?”
“Yes,” he said without hesitation. “I want them to hear you every day.”
She hummed quietly, just a few notes, just enough.
The twins stirred—gentle, content movements.
Michael smiled against her hair, his voice barely a whisper.
“They already feel at home.”
And in that quiet, rain-soaked night, surrounded by shared breaths and tiny movements, Marnie realized something profound.
Her voice—something she never thought was special—was already shaping their world.
- Writer
