Chapter 63 When the Twins Kick at the Sound of Michael’s Heartbeat
844 Words
The room was quiet in the way only late evenings could be—when the city finally seemed to pause, when the lights softened, when even the air felt slower.
Marnie lay on the bed, propped up by pillows, one hand resting over her belly. The twins had been unusually calm since dinner, and for once, she wasn’t complaining. Her body was tired in that deep, heavy way that came from carrying two lives at once.
Michael sat beside her, still in his work clothes, his tie loosened, sleeves rolled up. He had just come home from the hospital, and despite the long shift, his attention was entirely on her.
“How are you feeling?” he asked quietly.
She smiled faintly. “Heavy. Sleepy. Hungry again.”
He nodded. “I’ll get you something in a bit.”
She reached for his wrist before he could stand. “Stay first.”
He sat back down immediately.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. Michael’s hand rested on her belly, warm and steady. His touch had become a constant—something grounding, something reassuring.
Then Marnie shifted slightly and frowned.
“Michael?”
“Yes?”
“I feel… pressure. Not pain. Just… movement.”
He straightened. “Are they—?”
Before he could finish—
THUMP.
Both of them froze.
Another kick followed, then another—firm, rhythmic, deliberate.
“They’re active again,” she said softly.
Michael placed his palm more firmly against her stomach. “Hey,” he murmured. “Easy.”
Nothing.
He leaned closer, his chest hovering just above her belly.
Without thinking, he rested his cheek lightly against her stomach.
And that was when it happened.
THUD. THUD.
The twins kicked hard—stronger than before, more focused.
Marnie gasped. “Oh—Michael!”
He lifted his head, startled. “Did I hurt you?”
“No,” she breathed. “They kicked right where your chest was.”
He tried again, more carefully this time, lowering his chest so that his heart rested close to her belly. His heartbeat was slow, steady, controlled—the same rhythm that calmed patients, the same rhythm that grounded him through chaos.
Almost instantly—
THUMP. THUMP.
Both sides of her belly responded.
Marnie’s eyes widened. “They’re reacting to you again.”
Michael’s breath stilled. He stayed perfectly still, afraid to break whatever invisible connection had just formed.
“They can hear my heart,” he whispered.
She nodded, her voice trembling. “They’re listening to it.”
As if to confirm it, the twins kicked again—this time not wildly, not aggressively, but in gentle pulses, almost in time with his heartbeat.
Michael swallowed hard.
“I’ve listened to heartbeats my entire life,” he said quietly. “Newborns. Patients. Monitors. Machines.” His voice dropped. “But this… this is the first time I’ve felt like one was listening back.”
Emotion tightened his chest in a way no medical training could prepare him for.
He pressed a kiss to her belly, lingering there.
“I’m here,” he whispered. “You’re safe. Both of you.”
The twins answered with a slow roll beneath his touch.
Marnie reached up and rested her hand on the back of his neck, anchoring him there.
“They know you,” she said softly. “They know you’re their father.”
Michael stayed like that for a long time, breathing carefully, his heart beating steadily against her stomach. Every few seconds, a small kick or shift reminded him that the connection was real—that these tiny lives were already responding to him in ways that defied logic and explanation.
Eventually, he lifted his head, eyes glossy but smiling.
“They’re synchronizing,” he said in awe. “Their movements are calmer when I’m close.”
She smiled gently. “You calm them.”
The realization settled into him deeply, reshaping something inside his chest.
All his life, he had been the one in control. The one protecting others. The one holding everything together.
But now—
Now, two tiny hearts were learning his rhythm.
Later that night, when they lay in bed, Michael pulled Marnie carefully against his chest. Her head rested beneath his chin, her belly pressed lightly against him.
He wrapped both arms around her, enclosing her fully.
Almost immediately, the twins shifted—then stilled.
Marnie sighed contentedly. “They stopped kicking.”
Michael smiled softly, his hand moving in slow circles over her belly.
“They’re listening again,” he murmured. “To us.”
She closed her eyes, comforted by his warmth, by the steady sound beneath her ear.
For the first time in days, sleep came easily.
And as Michael lay awake for a while longer, feeling the gentle weight of his family against him, he realized something profound.
His heartbeat was no longer just his own.
It was a promise.
A rhythm of safety.
A sound two small lives already trusted—long before they ever opened their eyes.
- Writer
