From Divorce to Billionaire’s Baby

Chapter Nine: A Weekend of Reflection

The rest of the weekend passes in a blur, with the weight of my conversation with Ryan still lingering heavily on my mind. I find myself drifting through the days, lost in thought. My family, always my safe haven, does everything they can to keep the mood light, from my mother’s playful banter to my grandparents’ gentle encouragement. Yet, despite their reassurances, there’s an unspoken tension in the air, a shared worry that none of us dares to fully address. I can feel their concern radiating through their smiles and soft words, and I know they’re just as uncertain as I am about Ryan’s sudden desire to be part of my life again, part of our lives.

It’s hard to tell if this newfound commitment of his is real or just another fleeting attempt to mend what’s already broken. The questions swirl in my head, each one more pressing than the last,

Can I trust him?

Can I afford to give him another chance?

How much more disappointment can I handle?

Still, as much as these thoughts weigh on me, I’ve decided, I’ll take things one step at a time, giving Ryan the opportunity to prove himself while keeping my guard firmly in place. For the sake of the baby, I need to at least try.

Sunday morning begins in the most familiar and comforting way possible, with the warm scent of fresh cinnamon rolls wafting through the house. The smell instantly takes me back to my childhood, to mornings spent in my grandmother’s kitchen, watching her bake with a grace and precision that has always seemed effortless. I find her there now, just as I always have, humming softly as she works the dough with her hands, each fold deliberate and filled with the warmth and love that defines this home.

“Morning, dear,” she says without turning, as though she can sense my presence even before I speak. “Come help me with these.”

I smile and step up to the counter, falling into the easy, familiar rhythm of working alongside her. There’s something so soothing about these small, domestic moments, moments that make me feel grounded, that help me forget, even if only for a little while, the complexities of my situation. Kneading dough beside her, I feel the weight on my shoulders begin to lift, just enough to let me breathe.

We don’t talk much as we work. My grandmother has always been the type to offer comfort through actions rather than words. She doesn’t press me for answers or advice; she simply lets me be, knowing I’ll speak when I’m ready. It’s only when the cinnamon rolls are in the oven, their sweet aroma already filling the kitchen, that she finally breaks the silence.

“Sometimes, Tess,” she says, her voice soft but steady, “life gives you challenges not to break you, but to see how strong you’ve become.”

Her words hang in the air, resonating with a truth that I hadn’t realized I needed to hear. I nod silently, my heart swelling with appreciation for her wisdom. She’s seen me through every trial, every heartache, and I know she believes I’m strong enough to face whatever comes next. But even with her encouragement, there’s still a small voice inside me that wonders if I’m truly ready to face the possibility of letting Ryan back in.

The rest of the day continues in a similar rhythm, slow, calm, peaceful. But no matter how much I try to stay present in the moment, my mind keeps wandering back to Ryan. I replay our conversation over and over in my head, scrutinizing every word, trying to discern his sincerity. By the afternoon, I find myself toying with the idea of inviting him to my upcoming doctor’s appointment on Tuesday. It feels like a big step, but if he truly wants to be involved, it would be the perfect opportunity for him to prove it.

Later that afternoon, my grandfather suggests we take a walk to his vegetable garden, a small patch of land behind the house where he’s been nurturing rows of tomatoes, peppers, and herbs for years. The autumn sun casts a warm glow over the garden as we stroll through it, the earthy scent of soil and ripe produce filling the air. This space has always been my grandfather’s sanctuary, a place where he finds peace and solitude, and it seems fitting that he’d want to share it with me now.

As he crouches down to inspect a patch of carrots, he speaks up, his voice low and calm, but laced with concern. “So, have you thought any more about what you’ll do with Ryan?”

I pause for a moment, and then nod. “I think I will give him a chance, but I’m going to be cautious.”

My grandfather glances at me, his eyes crinkling with a small, proud smile that reaches his weathered face. “That’s my girl,” he says, his voice full of warmth. “You’ve always been good at trusting your instincts. Just remember, Tess you don’t owe him anything. He must earn his place in your life, and in the baby’s life.”

His words settle over me like a protective shield, reminding me of the strength I have within, the strength my family has always seen in me, even when I doubted it myself. I know he’s right, Ryan doesn’t deserve an easy path back into our lives. He’ll need to prove that he’s serious, that he’s willing to step up in ways he never has before. And I must protect myself and the baby, first and foremost.

By the time evening rolls around, I find myself feeling a little more at peace. My grandparents and parents have done everything in their power to distract me throughout the day, cooking meals together, playing card games, and reminiscing about old family stories, and I appreciate their efforts more than they know. But in the quiet moments, when the chatter dies down and I’m left alone with my thoughts, my mind inevitably returns to Ryan.

The future still feels uncertain, clouded with questions and possibilities I can’t quite sort through yet. But there’s a small flicker of hope too, hope that maybe, just maybe, Ryan is serious this time. Hope that he really does want to change, to be a part of this child’s life. And as much as I’m wary of that hope, I can’t completely shut it out.

For now, I will take things one step at a time, just like my grandfather advised. And maybe, as the days pass and Ryan shows whether he’s capable of real change, the path forward will become a little clearer.

I will give him a call tomorrow and invite him to the doctor’s appointment. That’s my first step.