🧡 ᴜɴᴘʟᴀɴɴᴇᴅ — ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 33: ʜᴇʀ ʙɪɢ ʙʀᴏᴛʜᴇʀ’ꜱ ᴀʀʀɪᴠᴀʟ 🧡
ꜰ1 x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ʟᴀɴᴅᴏ ɴᴏʀʀɪꜱ ᴀᴜ | ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ + ᴅʀᴀᴍᴀ
⚠️ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ:
🇵🇭🇾🇸🇮🇨🇦🇱 🇩🇮🇸🇨🇴🇲🇫🇴🇷🇹 🇦🇳🇩 🇫🇦🇹🇮🇬🇺🇪 🇷🇪🇱🇦🇹🇪🇩 🇹🇴 🇱🇦🇹🇪-🇸🇹🇦🇬🇪 🇵🇷🇪🇬🇳🇦🇳🇨🇾 (🇼🇮🇹🇭 🇹🇼🇮🇳🇸)
🇪🇲🇴🇹🇮🇴🇳🇦🇱 🇻🇺🇱🇳🇪🇷🇦🇧🇮🇱🇮🇹🇾 🇦🇳🇩 🇫🇪🇦🇷 🇴🇫 🇫🇦🇲🇮🇱🇮🇦🇱 🇩🇮🇸🇦🇵🇵🇴🇮🇳🇹🇲🇪🇳🇹
🇪🇸🇹🇷🇦🇳🇬🇪🇲🇪🇳🇹 🇫🇷🇴🇲 🇫🇦🇲🇮🇱🇾 🇦🇳🇩 🇦🇳🇽🇮🇪🇹🇾 🇦🇷🇴🇺🇳🇩 🇷🇪🇨🇴🇳🇳🇪🇨🇹🇮🇴🇳
🇲🇪🇳🇹🇮🇴🇳 🇴🇫 🇵🇦🇸🇹 🇸🇪🇨🇷🇪🇨🇾 🇦🇳🇩 🇫🇪🇪🇱🇮🇳🇬🇸 🇴🇫 🇸🇭🇦🇲🇪
🇷🇪🇮🇳🇹🇷🇴🇩🇺🇨🇹🇮🇴🇳 🇴🇫 🇦 🇵🇷🇴🇹🇪🇨🇹🇮🇻🇪 🇴🇱🇩🇪🇷 🇸🇮🇧🇱🇮🇳🇬 (🇲🇮🇱🇩 🇪🇲🇴🇹🇮🇴🇳🇦🇱 🇨🇴🇳🇫🇷🇴🇳🇹🇦🇹🇮🇴🇳)
🇫🇦🇲🇮🇱🇾 🇹🇪🇳🇸🇮🇴🇳, 🇺🇳🇷🇪🇸🇴🇱🇻🇪🇩 🇶🇺🇪🇸🇹🇮🇴🇳🇸, 🇦🇳🇩 🇬🇷🇦🇩🇺🇦🇱 🇷🇪🇨🇴🇳🇨🇮🇱🇮🇦🇹🇮🇴🇳
🇬🇪🇳🇹🇱🇪 🇪🇲🇴🇹🇮🇴🇳🇦🇱 🇷🇪🇱🇪🇦🇸🇪 (🇨🇷🇾🇮🇳🇬, 🇻🇺🇱🇳🇪🇷🇦🇧🇮🇱🇮🇹🇾, 🇫🇦🇲🇮🇱🇮🇦🇱 🇸🇺🇵🇵🇴🇷🇹)
Months Later
It had become harder to move.
Each morning felt heavier than the last, her belly stretched taut, her ankles puffier, her back threatening protest with every attempt to roll out of bed. It was the final stretch. Her doctor had said as much during the last appointment.
"Any week now," the OB-GYN had warned gently, eyes soft as she measured the curve of (Y/n)’s bump. "With twins, it’s normal to feel like you’re at capacity before your due date. You're almost there."
Almost was doing a lot of work.
Lando had kissed her temple before flying out for the next race weekend, promising to video call between every briefing. Still, he hated leaving. Especially now. Especially when just helping her down the stairs left her breathless.
But she wasn’t alone.
Carla and Amara had taken over like clockwork.
“Feet up. Always,” Carla would insist, tossing a pillow under her legs before making another mug of herbal tea.
“Don’t even think about lifting that,” Amara scolded when (Y/n) tried to fetch her own overnight bag for the clinic checkup. “We’ll pack it for you when the time comes.”
Their boutique schedules had shifted, their lives unofficially rearranged to care for the soon-to-be mom who once bossed them around about hanger color and window displays.
“Honestly, we should be the ones on maternity leave,” Amara joked as she massaged (Y/n)’s lower back. “I’m buying adult diapers out of stress.”
But (Y/n) could feel it too, that something was about to change. That the walls of their cozy Monaco flat were starting to feel less like a sanctuary and more like a waiting room.
Then came the knock at the door.
She assumed it was another delivery.
But when Carla opened it, the gasp she let out wasn’t over flowers or vitamins.
“Uhm… (Y/n)?” Carla blinked. “There’s a man at the door. Tall. Expensive shoes. Serious face.”
(Y/n), still wrapped in a blanket on the couch, froze.
Only one person came to mind.
She shifted upright as her heartbeat picked up. And then she saw him.
Standing in the doorway, in a navy blazer and sharp trousers, dark brows drawn low in disbelief, was her older brother.
Alaric.
Alaric, who once gave a graduation speech at Oxford. Alaric, who represented Singapore in youth diplomacy programs. Alaric, the golden child of their family, now blinking at his very pregnant baby sister like the ground beneath him just vanished.
“Y/n…?”
She hadn’t seen him in over a year.
“Al—” She struggled to rise, clutching the couch arm.
“Sit,” he said immediately, crossing the room in long strides. “Don’t even try.”
He knelt beside her, eyes darting between her face and the unmistakable roundness of her belly.
“I—I was going to call,” she whispered.
“I should’ve come sooner.”
She swallowed hard. “You’re mad.”
“I’m shocked.” His voice was low, but not cruel. “But mostly… hurt that I had to hear it from a headline. That I had to see it from someone else’s screen.”
She looked down, tears threatening. “I didn’t know how to tell you. How to tell any of you.”
He sat beside her, quiet for a moment.
“You look like you’re in pain.”
She gave a breathless chuckle. “Try growing two people inside you.”
“Two?” His brows lifted. “Twins?”
She nodded.
He leaned back, letting it settle.
Then he said, “You need to come home.”
“Al—”
“Just for a while,” he clarified. “To see Mom and Dad. Explain everything. You don’t have to stay forever. Just… let us in again.”
Tears finally spilled from her eyes.
“I was scared.”
“I know.” His hand squeezed hers. “But they love you. And you’re still you, even if your life looks different now.”
A week later, after Lando returned and kissed her goodbye at the gate, she and Alaric flew to Singapore.
The family home was warm and quiet. Her mother opened the door with disbelief, then her father behind her, speechless.
The reunion was soft, emotional, and not without tension. There were questions. A few sighs. Even a tear from her dad that she didn’t expect.
“You could’ve told us sooner,” her mother murmured as she pressed her palm to (Y/n)’s stomach, feeling one twin kick.
“I was afraid you’d be disappointed,” she whispered.
“We were surprised,” her father admitted. “But never ashamed of you.”
“And Lando?” her brother asked later. “Should we be worried?”
(Y/n) smiled faintly. “No. He’s the one.”
During her stay, (Y/n) found herself rediscovering small pieces of the life she left behind, quiet walks with her mother through Tiong Bahru market in the early morning, the scent of pandan chiffon cake cooling on the counter, laughter over bowls of laksa during a nostalgic dinner. Her old room had been kept mostly the same, though a few of her posters had been neatly rolled up and tucked away.
One evening, she sat on the front steps with her mom, watching the sunset dye the sky in soft pinks and burnt orange.
“I used to think I’d ruin everything if I made one mistake,” (Y/n) murmured.
Her mom reached over, gently tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “But some mistakes aren’t mistakes at all. Sometimes they’re just… different beginnings.”
For once, she didn’t feel like she was hiding anything.
For the first time since Monaco, she could breathe.
To be continued... 🧡
🧡 ᴜɴᴘʟᴀɴɴᴇᴅ — ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 34: ᴛʜᴇ ᴛʜɪɴɢꜱ ꜱʜᴇ ʟᴇꜰᴛ ʙᴇʜɪɴᴅ 🧡
📝 Note from the Author: Sixth post of the day. SIX. Who is she? Emotionally generous. Hydrated. Tired. But we’re here, and we’re peeling back the layers now.
This chapter is for the ones who left home in silence, thinking they’d be judged before they were understood. For the ones who carry new lives (literally or metaphorically) while dragging the weight of old expectations behind them. This? This was healing.
From Carla and Amara’s ride-or-die loyalty, to Alaric’s sudden reappearance (you were NOT ready for him), to that emotional return to Singapore, this was (Y/n)’s reckoning. Her soft, painful, beautiful reckoning. And her mom’s line?
"Some mistakes aren’t mistakes at all. Sometimes they’re just… different beginnings." Read it again. Let it sit. Let it sting a little. Then let it comfort you.
🌸 Drop a 🧳 if you’ve ever needed to go home to remember who you are. 🌼 Drop a 🍰 if pandan chiffon and laksa just awakened your inner Southeast Asian core memory. 🔥 Drop a 🧿 if you’re keeping your eye on Magui from afar because yes, she’s still lurking. 💛 Drop a 🧡 if you’re just proud of how far (Y/n)’s come, from a boutique manager to a mother-to-be finding her way back to her roots.
And if you’re wondering, yes, Lando is still waiting, still watching every video call like the sun rises and sets with her. But before the babies arrive, she needed this. They needed this. Closure. Acceptance. Peace.
More scheduled posts coming even while I’m away.
With love, me 🧡
