From Divorce to Billionaire’s Baby

Chapter 19: Unspoken Truths

The sky begins to glow with the soft hues of early evening as we walk along the winding path that hugs the edge of the lake. The rhythmic sound of water gently lapping against the shore mingles with the soft murmurs of conversation around me. It's peaceful, a rare and precious kind of serenity that seems to envelop us all. Yet, even in this calm, I can feel the weight of unspoken words hanging in the air, like the calm before a storm, ready to break at any moment.

Ryan walks quietly by my side, his presence steady and reassuring. Over the past few weeks, as we’ve spent more time together preparing for the baby, I’ve started to see a side of him that I never fully appreciated before. At first, when we met two years ago, I was captivated by the obvious things, his looks, his charm, his success. I was almost in love with the idea of him, the image he projected. But once we got married, reality quickly set in. The cracks beneath the surface began to show, and the idealized version of Ryan that I had built up in my head shattered. It was like every little feeling I had for him withered away.

But now, things feel different. We're about to become parents, and that has changed everything. Spending all this time together, buying clothes and toys for our little girl, setting up her room, talking about what kind of parents we want to be, it’s like I am seeing him through new eyes. The man he is now, the one who stays late to finish building the crib just right, the one who makes sure I am comfortable at every turn, the one who quietly stands by me when I feel overwhelmed, is so different from the distant husband I once knew.

And I find myself falling for him all over again, but this time, it's deeper. Before, it was infatuation, sparked by his handsomeness and the polished image he portrayed. Now, it feels more real, more grounded. I see the way he genuinely cares for our unborn daughter, how he wants to be there for her in ways that go beyond duty. And it's not just his actions with the baby. It’s the small things, the way he looks at me now, the way he listens when I talk, the moments where he quietly supports me without needing to say a word.

It’s confusing, falling for him now, after everything we’ve been through. After all the hurt and the distance, after thinking we were done for good. But here we are, expecting a child in less than two months, rebuilding something I thought was long gone. And it’s different this time, because I am not falling for the image of Ryan, the polished version he used to present to the world. I am falling for the real him, the man I have come to know intimately through these past weeks. And that’s scarier in some ways, because this time, it feels like it could be real.

As we continue along the path, the soft breeze carries the scent of the lake, and for the first time in a long while, I feel hopeful. Maybe, just maybe, there’s a future for us that I never allowed myself to imagine.

My dad is walking slightly ahead with Ryan’s dad, their voices low as they discuss everything from business to the best fishing spots by the lake. It’s a conversation they’ve likely had a hundred times before, but today it feels forced, as though they’re trying to fill the silence with anything but the obvious tension hovering around us all.

“Don’t push yourself, Tess,” my mom says from my other side, her arm brushing mine as if ready to steady me at any moment. “You need to be careful. You don’t want to overexert yourself.”

I stifle a sigh and smile at her instead. “I am fine, Mom. Really. A little walk will do me good.”

She gives me a look, one I’ve seen a thousand times, maternal concern mixed with doubt, like she knows something I don’t. But thankfully, she doesn’t press further. We continue in relative silence for a few more minutes, the only sound the crunch of gravel underfoot and the occasional birdsong.

After a while, Ryan’s voice breaks through the quiet. “Do you think we should talk about it?” he asks softly, his tone careful. He doesn’t look at me, but I know what he’s referring to. We have been skirting around this conversation ever since we arrived.

I swallow hard, my heart thudding in my chest. There it is, the question hanging between us, waiting to be acknowledged. The future, the baby, us. “Maybe,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. “But… not here. Not now.”

He nods, understanding. There’s a time and place for everything, and right now, we are surrounded by too many ears and too many eyes that don’t need to hear the delicate, messy truth of what’s going on between us.

We walk in silence again, but this time it feels heavier, as if the words we didn’t say are pressing down on both of us.

Ahead of us, my mom and Ryan’s dad fall into step together, their conversation surprisingly light as they reminisce about old family vacations by the lake. But I can sense my mom’s glances, her eyes constantly drifting back to me, checking, worrying. I wish I could tell her not to. I wish I could tell her that I have it all figured out, that Ryan and I will be fine, that this baby will be born into a world of certainty and love. But I can’t. Because I don’t know if any of that is true.

Ryan and I continue to walk side by side, the silence between us growing more pronounced as the path narrows near the water’s edge. Finally, I can’t take it anymore.

“Ryan,” I say quietly, my voice wavering just a little. “We need to talk about what happens next. I am not sure how much longer we can avoid it.”

He stops, turning to face me, his eyes searching mine with a mix of uncertainty and determination. “I know, Tess. I have been thinking about it too. But every time I try to figure out what’s best, I...” He pauses, running a hand through his hair, a gesture I have come to recognize as his way of stalling when he’s unsure of what to say.

“I am scared,” I admit, my voice barely audible over the soft breeze. “I am scared of making the wrong decision, of bringing our daughter into a situation that isn’t right for her.”

His expression softens, and for a moment, the guarded look he’s been wearing slips away. “I am scared too,” he confesses, stepping closer. “I don’t want to mess this up, Tess. Not again. I don’t want to hurt you, or her.”

We stand there, staring at each other, the distance between us both physical and emotional. For the first time in what feels like forever, we’re being honest. No more pretending, no more tiptoeing around the truth. It’s raw and terrifying, but it’s real.

“What do we do, Ryan?” I ask, my voice trembling. “How do we figure this out?”

He takes a deep breath, his eyes locked on mine. “I think we need to stop avoiding the hard conversations. We need to talk, about us, about the baby, about what happens after she’s born.”

I nod, knowing he’s right. We can’t keep running from this. But the thought of confronting everything we’ve buried for so long makes my chest tighten with fear.

Before I can respond, my dad’s voice calls out from ahead. “Tess, come take a look at this view! It’s just like our holiday house we visited when you were little.”

I glance toward the sound of his voice, the familiar warmth of his tone pulling me back to reality. For now, this conversation will have to wait. I nod at Ryan, a silent agreement passing between us. We will talk, but not here. Not yet.

As we walk up the slight incline to where my dad is standing, I feel Ryan’s hand brush against mine again. This time, I let it linger, a small, tentative gesture of something we both still hold onto. A flicker of hope, fragile and uncertain.

For now, we walk together in silence, the future still a murky question mark. But at least we’re not avoiding it anymore. And maybe, just maybe, that’s a start.