At 3 a.m., Fang Yiyi suddenly cried out in stomach pain. I hadn’t slept a wink while keeping vigil by her bedside. The moment I heard her voice, I sprang upright from the bed and jabbed the call button, then frantically dialed for help.
As they wheeled Fang Yiyi into the delivery room, her fingers clamped onto mine like a vise. All that earlier calm had been a deliberate act—no one could truly stay unruffled through this…
"Don’t be scared! I’ll send Xiaoxi in to stay with you!"
Hospital rules strictly barred family from the delivery room, but such rules meant nothing to us. Rong Sheng’s influence could rewrite them at will.
I’d originally planned to accompany Fang Yiyi myself. At this critical moment, I wanted her to feel my hand in hers—to know I’d never leave her side.
But Fang Yiyi stubbornly refused. She insisted she didn’t want me seeing her "lose face," nor did she want me pressuring the doctors. Reluctantly, I gave in.
Since she’d be terrified alone, Xiaoxi became the compromise—she’d go in as her companion.
…
"How’s it going? How long has Yiyi been in there?"
"Fifteen minutes."
When the three elders arrived, I was still slumped in a chair outside the maternity ward, staring blankly at the electronic display on the wall.
Red characters scrolled across the screen: *Fang Yiyi. Cervix dilated to 3 cm.*
At least the start was smooth. *Please, heavens—let those two little troublemakers crawl out quietly. No surprises.*
"Bro, I’m changing and heading in! Don’t worry—Sis Yiyi will be fine."
"Mm."
I bit my lip hard, watching Xiaoxi vanish down the hall. Right now, I desperately wished *I* were the one stepping into that operating room.
No ear-splitting screams echoed like in TV dramas. A long sterile corridor separated the delivery room from the waiting area, sealed by glass doors.
My ears caught nothing. My eyes only saw doctors and nurses rushing about. Staff kept emerging to report to Fang Yiyi’s father—each update positive, slowly easing the heavy tension.
At 4 a.m., the screen flashed: *Cervix dilated to 5 cm.* A nurse assured us everything progressed smoothly.
At 5 a.m., it read: *6 cm.* Just as a nurse came out with good news, I spotted Xiaoxi behind her.
Before I could ask why she’d left Fang Yiyi’s side, Xiaoxi clapped a hand over her mouth, crumpled into a corner, and sobbed uncontrollably.
"It’s normal," the nurse said gently. "First-timers often can’t handle the intensity inside…"
*But is it really fine?*
If a mere spectator broke down like this—what must Fang Yiyi be enduring?
I couldn’t bear to imagine it. I started to rise and ask Xiaoxi, but she wiped her tears and dashed back inside before I could speak.
"Yiyi will be alright…"
Fang Yiyi’s father pressed his heavy palm onto my shoulder. I could only nod.
Everyone paced restlessly. Only I sat frozen.
Not because I didn’t care—I cared too much. I feared my legs would buckle. I feared collapsing if I stood. Otherwise, I’d never have moved so slowly when Xiaoxi ran out!
*If I’d known this agony awaited me, I’d have refused these twins. Just let Yiyi be safe…*
Time crawled. By 6 a.m., three hours had passed since Fang Yiyi entered.
This time, a doctor emerged—not a nurse. I already guessed his news.
The three elders snapped to their feet, faces tight with suppressed hope.
"Congratulations. Ms. Fang is doing well. Healthy boy and girl."
"Thank you! Thank you!"
Hearing Mom’s tearful gratitude to the doctor, my own tears spilled over.
The first time I saw Fang Yiyi, she was a girl abandoned by her family—kin without kinship. Now, I could finally say: *We have a true home.*
…
"Listen how loudly they cry! Though… becoming a grandma at forty feels a bit early, doesn’t it?"
The newborns wailed in turn as grandparents and great-grandfather passed them around.
Fang Yiyi lay on the bed, utterly spent. Xiaoxi sat beside her, red-eyed and weeping.
"You’ve worked so hard…"
Words failed me. Nothing could capture this storm of emotions. I gently smoothed the sweat-damp strands from Fang Yiyi’s forehead.
"Husband… were you scared by them?"
I blinked, confused—then followed her gaze to the wrinkled, crimson infants in the elders’ arms. Their skin peeled white like boiled dumplings. *Cute?* Hardly. Terrifying, more like.
"All newborns look like this," Fang Yiyi whispered, a trace of a smile in her voice. "With our good genes, they’ll blossom soon enough…"
The solemn mood shattered into helpless laughter. No one expected *this* to be her first words after delivery.
"See? Who’d be scared of their own babies!"
But I knew—she’d done it deliberately. Even now, battered and exhausted, she was still worrying about *my* feelings. *What do I owe her for this?*
"Husband… do you think I’ll be a good mother?"
"Ridiculous question."
I flicked her forehead lightly. Growing up motherless, she’d doubted herself all through pregnancy.
She’d devoured parenting books until our bedside table groaned under their weight. While other couples whispered sweet nothings, we debated infant formula brands and educational timelines.
Frankly, those books were absurd—raising a baby like a prehistoric creature. Sterile this, organic that, disinfect everything.
My own mom had raised me on meals that resembled poison. Yet here I stood, perfectly fine.
I’d resisted Fang Yiyi’s rigid approach at first, fearing she’d become a robot. But the Ye family tradition of "henpecked husbands" won out. Soon, I’d memorized every parenting manual backward. Now, my theoretical knowledge surpassed any average nanny’s.
…
Ye Chen and Ye Cheng couldn’t stay in the hospital long. After checkups and a few days of monitored recovery, we brought them home.
Two months later, the twins transformed. Even Xiaoxi admitted their future beauty would be "monstrously dazzling"—a compliment from her.
Logically, they should’ve shed the "ugly" label by now.
But fate had other plans. Today, as Fang Yiyi, Xiaoxi, and I peered into their crib, Xiaoxi blurted:
"Bro… no! They’re too cute! Their cheeks look like steamed meat buns—I want to take a bite!"
I didn’t grasp the horror at first. Until I poked their plump cheeks (earning Fang Yiyi’s glare). Xiaoxi’s words seared into my mind: *They really did look like rising dough.*
Fang Yiyi had just escaped the "ugly babies" shadow. Now, I’d fallen in.
"How…? They only eat rice porridge. Why so chubby?"
Before Fang Yiyi’s pregnancy, she always tidied my desk. If I touched it myself, she’d scold me. I’d grown dependent.
Times changed. Yesterday, needing to join a remote call with Europe, I tried clearing space myself while they cared for the twins.
I only meant to make a small spot—but digging through papers, I unearthed half-eaten cookies, wet wipes, and a pristine diaper. Defeated, I relocated to the living room.
Fang Yiyi had spoiled me into messiness. Time to change. No one would tidy for me these next few years.
"Is my breast milk too rich? Should we cut back?"
Work kept me from cooking. Fang Yiyi’s skills mirrored Mom’s disastrous attempts. So Xiaoxi handled meals, with Fang Yiyi assisting.
But since the twins arrived, rice porridge ruled our kitchen. *Children first. Always.*
Xiaoxi would tease them—holding a spoonful of porridge to their lips, then pulling it away as they wailed. She’d collapse laughing.
Imagine coming home from work, dreaming of a hot meal… only to find a pot of steaming porridge.
Fang Yiyi and Xiaoxi ate happily. Dad delivered lactation-boosting dishes daily. Their diets were secure.
But me? A grown man surviving on salmon, dates, oats, pig trotters, and soy milk? I’d sprout breasts!
*The general manager of Rong Sheng… reduced to porridge slavery. Tragic.*
"Don’t be silly! They’re babies! Books say they *need* baby fat—it melts away later. Starve them now, and they’ll stay short. You want that responsibility?"
Another glare from Fang Yiyi. I faced a harsh truth:
The woman who once rushed out smiling—*"Home early today? Tired? Hungry? Water?"*—was gone. My status in this family had plummeted.
"Go warm the stored milk in the fridge. They’ll be hungry soon."
"Okaaay~"
