The "Grandparent Protocol": Wrapped in Love
[Jay's POV]
By the middle of the 6th month, the "Empress" was officially running on low battery. Between Alexander practicing his "Heavyweight Champion" kicks and Aurora decided my bladder was a "Stress-Ball," I felt less like a powerful woman and more like an over-encumbered cargo ship.
But the moment I stepped—or rather, waddled—into the sunroom, the "Care Protocol" was activated.
Mamma Serina: The Nutritional Gatekeeper
"Jay! Stop right there," Mamma Serina commanded, her voice soft but absolute. She didn't even wait for me to reach the sofa; she met me halfway with a plush velvet footstool and a pillow.
"I was just going to get some water, Mamma—"
"You will sit. The water will come to you," she insisted, gently steering me into the armchair. Within seconds, she had a tray in front of me. It wasn't the "Beige Oatmeal" from the mood-swing incident. It was a beautiful spread of sliced dragonfruit, chilled coconut water, and the exact brand of organic crackers I had mentioned wanting three weeks ago.
"Eat, honey," she whispered, tucking a stray hair behind my ear. Her hands were always so warm, smelling like lavender and expensive vanilla. "You aren't just feeding yourself; you're building my grandbabies. If you need to yell at the oats again, you yell. I've raised four Watsons—I'm 1,000% fireproof."
I felt a lump in my throat. In this house full of high-tech sensors and "Powerhouse" egos, Mamma was the heartbeat. She didn't care about the "System Sync"; she cared about the girl inside the glow.
Pappa Keizer: The Silent Guardian
Then there was Pappa Keizer.
He usually sat in his leather wingback chair, looking like he was calculating the next decade's global market shifts. But as I sat there, I noticed he wasn't looking at his newspaper. He was watching the "Perimeter."
"The AC is at 21.5
∘
C," Pappa stated, his voice booming but oddly comforting. "Bridget, adjust it to 23
∘
C. The Empress is shivering."
"I'm actually fine, Pappa," I smiled.
"You rubbed your arms twice in the last sixty seconds," he noted, not looking up from his paper. "Data doesn't lie. 23
∘
C is the optimal temperature for twin-development."
A moment later, he stood up and walked over. He didn't do the "mushy" stuff, but he placed a heavy, steady hand on my shoulder. It was the hand of a man who had protected an empire for forty years, and now, it was shielding me.
"Keifer is a genius," Pappa grumbled, though his eyes were kind. "But he's a young genius. He worries about the 'Hardware.' If any of them—the brothers, the security, or even my son—stresses you out, you come to me. I'll have them 'Relocated' to the London office by morning."
I laughed, feeling a wave of absolute safety. "1,000%?"
"1,000%," he affirmed with a rare, small smile.
The "Safe-Haven" Sync
As the afternoon light faded, I sat between them—the Queen and King of the Watson line. Mamma was showing me vintage baby photos of a very chubby, very grumpy-looking baby Keifer, and Pappa was quietly ordering the "Softest Rug in Existence" for the nursery because he decided the current one was "Too Industrial."
For the first time in weeks, the mood swings felt distant. The "Worst Cravings" were satisfied.
[Jay's POV]
I realized then that Alexander and Aurora weren't just being born into a company or a legacy. They were being born into a fortress of love.
"Thank you, Mamma. Thank you, Pappa," I whispered, leaning my head back.
"Don't thank us, Jay," Mamma said, squeezing my hand. "You brought the 'Glow' back to this house. We're just making sure it never flickers out."