From Divorce to Billionaire’s Baby

Chapter 21: Eavesdropping

The sun is barely rising when I wake the next morning, its early light casting a soft, golden hue over the bedroom. The soft glow fills the space with a peaceful warmth, and for the first time in what feels like forever, I don’t wake with a knot of anxiety in my chest. Despite the weight of the conversation Ryan and I had last night, I feel surprisingly rested. We made a decision, one that could change everything for us and for our daughter.

We agreed to try, to give ourselves a chance at being a family. But even as I lie in bed, staring up at the ceiling, the enormity of what we discussed settles over me again. There’s still so much to figure out, especially when it comes to how we’re going to live together.

With a sigh, I slip out of bed, careful not to make too much noise. The house is still quiet, and I crave the peace and clarity of my usual morning routine. Yoga has always been my way of cantering myself, a moment of calm before the chaos of the day. Quietly, I make my way to the balcony, where the air is cool and crisp, the faint smell of morning dew still lingering. The sky is painted in soft pastel shades, the sun just beginning to climb over the horizon. It’s beautiful, and for a moment, I let myself breathe in the serenity of it all.

I unroll my mat and stretch, allowing the motions to clear my mind. I sink into the familiar poses, each stretch loosening the tension in my muscles, each breath grounding me. The flow of yoga usually helps me release my worries, and today is no different or so I think.

As I settle into a deep stretch, the peaceful silence is broken by faint voices from below. At first, I try to ignore them, focusing on my breathing. But then I hear a familiar tone, one that immediately grabs my attention. It’s Ryan. I pause, straining to hear more clearly, and sure enough, he’s talking to his parents. I can’t make out every word, but curiosity tugs at me, refusing to let go.

I shift slightly on the balcony, careful not to be seen. Below, Ryan’s voice carries through the morning air, low but distinct.

“I think we’re making progress,” he says, his voice sounding calm, but there’s a tension there I hadn’t noticed last night. He pauses, but I can’t make out what else he says as the wind stirs the branches of the nearby trees, distorting the sound.

“That’s good,” his mother replies, her voice sharp in a way that makes my stomach twist. “But you can’t afford to drag this out, Ryan. You need to move faster.”

Move faster? Faster with what?

“I’m doing the best I can,” Ryan responds, frustration creeping into his tone. “This isn’t something I can rush.”

His father chimes in then, his voice firmer than Ryan’s, more demanding. “You’ve already wasted enough time. You need to....”

A gust of wind blows through, cutting off his words and leaving me straining to hear more. My heart starts to race as I process what little I’ve overheard. What is it they want to move faster? What’s the rush? And why does it feel like this involves me.....us......more than I realized?

I try to refocus on my yoga, forcing myself to breathe deeply and settle back into my routine, but my mind is swirling. The conversation I overheard has planted seeds of doubt and wonder, and no amount of stretching can shake the unease building in my chest. What do Ryan’s parents expect him to do? And why are they pushing him so hard?

After a few more half-hearted stretches, I give up and roll up my mat, heading back inside. The peace I would seek in the morning calm has vanished, replaced by a growing sense of unease. Whatever Ryan and his parents are discussing, it’s clear they have expectations, and those expectations don’t seem to account for how I feel in all of this.

The days starts to unfold, we all sit down and have a lovely breakfast. Everyone seems to be in a different mood than yesterday. Mom and dad are relaxed and enjoying the weekend. Ryan’s parents are also different, I am sure it is something to do with the conversation they were having earlier.

Ryan and I don’t get a chance to talk about anything. With everyone around, it’s impossible to have a private conversation. But I can’t shake the feeling that there’s more going on than what Ryan’s letting on.

It’s only in the afternoon, when we’re finally alone in the living room, that I bring it up.

“Ryan, can we talk?” I ask she he moves closer to where I am seated.

“Sure, what’s up?”

“About the living arrangement.”

“Yeah, I’ve been thinking about that too. My place is big an........”

“... I don’t want to move into your house.” I cut him before he finishes his sentence.

Ryan frowns, clearly surprised by my statement. “Why not? It’s bigger, more space for the baby.”

“I know it seems practical,” I admit, “but that house... it’s full of memories. Some good, yes, but mostly painful ones. I can’t go back to living there, Ryan. Not right now, not when we’re trying to build something new.”

He looks conflicted, running a hand through his hair. “So, what are you suggesting?”

“I want you to move in with me,” I say, my voice steady. “My apartment might be smaller, but it’s comfortable, and we’ve already set up the baby’s things there. It feels like home, and I think it’s a better place for us to start fresh.”

Ryan leans back, considering my words. I can see the hesitation in his eyes, he probably didn’t expect this, but I’m determined. I won’t move into his house, not when it represents so much of our past that I’m trying to heal from.

“Tess, are you sure?” he asks, his tone soft. “I don’t want to make things harder for you, and I know my place isn’t perfect, but....”

“I’m sure, Ryan,” I interrupt, moving closer to him. “We need a clean slate. And for me, that means living somewhere that doesn’t carry all the baggage of our past.”

He’s quiet for a long moment, then finally nods. “Alright. I’ll move in with you.”

Relief floods through me, though it’s tempered by the knowledge that this is an opportunity for me to be in control. My place my rule.

“When can I move in?” he asks.

“That’s up to you.”

“I’ll start packing some things tomorrow, when we get back and see if I can move in immediately.” he adds, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“Great.” I smile.

I can’t believe my ex-husband who is also the father of my unborn child is moving in with me.