My Twins Have Different Mothers

Chapter 5

I needed cilantro.

So I started playing the part, pushing food around my plate, acting like nothing tasted right, then slowly shifting into craving richer, stronger flavors that felt more in line with what someone in my condition might suddenly want.

"I want something hearty," I told Derek, my voice thin, like I didn't even have the energy to sit up straight. "Maybe like stuffed pasta, or something filling like that."

He frowned immediately, irritation flashing across his face, but he held it back for one reason only, the baby he thought I was carrying.

"You've got a lot of demands," he muttered, pulling out his phone anyway.

Not long after, the delivery showed up. He set a container of pork-filled dumplings on the table, the smell warm and savory as it spread through the room.

I stared at the plate the second it was in front of me, my pulse starting to climb.

Vanessa caught a whiff and recoiled instantly, covering her nose like she had walked into something foul. "God, what is that smell? Can you move it away from me?"

Derek let out a breath, already losing patience, and shoved the plate toward me. "You're the only one being difficult," he said. "Just eat. My son needs actual nutrition."

I picked one up, holding it for a moment before bringing it closer, keeping my tone casual. "What's in it?"

There was no label, no receipt with details, and Derek clearly hadn't paid attention when he ordered.

"It's pork," he said flatly. "Why are you overthinking it? Just eat."

I nodded and took a careful bite.

The flavor spread slowly, familiar, mild, completely wrong.

No cilantro.

My chest tightened as disappointment sank in.

'This isn't working. I can't keep guessing like this.'

I swallowed, forcing myself to stay calm while my thoughts shifted quickly. I needed something more direct, something that would force a reaction instead of leaving it up to chance.

The next morning, I escalated.

I made it look worse than before, running to the bathroom, dry heaving until my throat burned, letting my whole body shake like I was falling apart. By the time I came back out, my face was pale enough that Derek's expression darkened immediately.

"I can't keep eating takeout," I said, my voice uneven. "It makes me sick. I want to cook something myself."

He looked at me like I had just said something absurd. "You cook?"

I let a small pause sit between us, like I was thinking carefully. "I just want something simple," I said. "Tomato and egg soup... something light."

Then I added, slower this time, making sure every word landed.

"With a lot of green onions... and cilantro."

The second the word left my mouth, I fixed my eyes on Vanessa.

Her reaction was instant.

"No," she snapped, too fast, too sharp.

Derek turned to her, caught off guard. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Vanessa froze for a fraction of a second, then recovered quickly, forcing her tone back into something reasonable. "She's pregnant," she said. "Strong flavors like that aren't great for her. And cilantro can be irritating if you eat too much."

'She knows exactly what it does.'

Derek didn't question her. He just turned back to me, his patience gone. "You heard her. Not happening."

I lowered my head, letting my shoulders tremble slightly, my fingers curling into my clothes as if I was barely holding it together.

"I just want one bite," I said softly. "Not even that?"

My voice cracked at just the right moment.

"I can't keep anything down," I continued. "If this keeps up... your son is going to starve with me."

I made sure to stress your son.

Derek's expression shifted, irritation giving way to hesitation, then reluctant frustration. He ran a hand through his hair before finally giving in.

"Fine. Whatever. Eat," he said sharply. "All you do is make things complicated."

He headed into the kitchen, yanking open the fridge and pulling out ingredients, dropping them onto the counter with more force than necessary.

Vanessa followed him, lowering her voice, though not enough.

"Derek, are you seriously letting her eat that?" she whispered. "What if something goes wrong?"

"What do you want me to do?" he shot back quietly. "She won't eat. You want her starving herself? It's a little cilantro, it's not a big deal."

I stayed in the living room, hands resting in my lap, damp with sweat as I listened.

'This is it.'

A few minutes later, he came back with a bowl, steam curling up from the surface. He set it down in front of me, and the scent hit me immediately, warm, tangy, and underneath it, unmistakable.

Fresh cilantro, chopped fine and scattered across the top.

Vanessa didn't come any closer. She stayed across the room, one hand still covering her nose, her eyes locked on me, tense and watchful.

I picked up the spoon slowly, steadying my hand before dipping it into the soup. The surface rippled as I lifted it, bringing it toward my mouth with deliberate care.

For a brief moment, everything felt still.

Then I tasted it.

The bright, sharp flavor of cilantro spread across my tongue.

"Ah! This feels awful! What is this?!"

The voice inside my belly, that thing that had always sounded so self-assured, twisted into panic, into something raw and pained for the first time.

"Mom! That bad guy... he's sick! He stopped moving!"

Julian's voice followed, carrying a hint of excitement.

'It worked. It actually worked.'

The realization surged through me, sharp and electric, but I buried it immediately.

I kept my expression steady, even letting it soften slightly as if I was finally enjoying a real meal, and continued eating, spoonful after spoonful, until the bowl was completely empty.