From Divorce to Billionaire’s Baby

Chapter Six: A Simple Lunch Invitation

It’s been a few days since Ryan showed up at my office, and I still can’t shake the emotional whirlwind he stirred up. My hand moves to my belly, instinctively protective as if I can shield the baby from all the confusion that’s consuming me. I thought seeing Ryan after all this time would be final, that it would close the chapter of our lives together. But here I am, standing at the edge of uncertainty, wondering what his intentions are.

My phone buzzes, snapping me out of my thoughts. It’s a message from Ryan. He’s asking to meet for lunch. My heart skips a beat as I read the text over and over, trying to decode his intentions. Why does he want to meet now? What more could he possibly want to say that wasn’t already said during our last conversation?

I stare at the screen for a moment, my fingers hovering over the keyboard. I could ignore him, and pretend that I didn’t see the message, but deep down, I know I can’t do that. This baby complicates everything. Whether I like it or not, Ryan is going to be a part of my life again. He has every right to be.

With a shaky breath, I type a short reply, agreeing to meet him. As I press send, a knot forms in my stomach. I don’t know if it’s nerves or the baby shifting inside me, but it feels like a warning. Lunch with my ex-husband, how casual it sounds, but nothing about this situation feels casual.

The time our lunch arrives too quickly. I spent the morning pacing around the house, second-guessing my decision to meet him. My parents try to reassure me, reminding me that I need answers, but the uncertainty is gnawing at me. I haven’t seen Ryan since that day he found out I was pregnant, and I have no idea what to expect.

When I finally arrive at the restaurant, Ryan is already there, seated at a quiet table in the corner. His eyes meet mine as soon as I walk in, and for a moment, I falter. He looks the same, handsome, composed, the perfect picture of a man who has everything under control. But there’s something different in his expression, something softer, more vulnerable.

I force myself to walk over, each step a reminder of how much has changed since the last time Ryan and I were together like this. I am not the same woman who stood by his side for two long years, hoping for affection, for warmth, for a connection that never came. The Tess who sacrificed her needs and silenced her emotions to maintain a façade of a happy marriage no longer exists.

I have had to rebuild myself from the ground up after the divorce. I have learned to value my own voice, my own needs, and now, I am carrying a life that deserves every bit of protection and strength I can muster. It’s no longer just my heart at stake, there’s a future, a child, that I must think about.

I approach the table, my nerves twisting inside, but I keep my face composed. Ryan looks up as I reach him, his eyes searching mine, and for a split second, I see a flicker of something, regret, perhaps, or uncertainty. It mirrors my own.

He gets up and helps me settle in my seat.

“Hey,” Ryan says as he sits down across from me. His voice is calm, carefully measured, but I can sense the tension underneath it. He’s just as nervous as I am, though he’s trying hard to hide it.

“Hey,” I reply, keeping my tone neutral, refusing to let him see the storm of emotions swirling inside me. I don’t want to give away how anxious I feel, how seeing him again, after everything, makes my pulse quicken in ways I don’t fully understand. There’s too much history between us, too many unanswered questions.

Just as the silence between us begins to stretch, a waiter approaches the table, offering us a brief respite from the tension.

“Good afternoon,” he says with a polite smile, his voice professional but warm. “Are you ready to place your orders, or would you like a few more minutes?”

I glance at Ryan, unsure of how long we’ll be sitting here, but he shakes his head slightly. “We’re ready,” he says, taking the lead.

The waiter pulls out his notepad, poised to jot down our choices. “What can I get for you today?”

Ryan looks at me first, waiting for me to order. I clear my throat, trying to push aside the awkwardness of the moment. “I’ll have the grilled chicken salad,” I say quietly, my voice steady but soft. “With the dressing on the side, and a potion of fries please.”

The waiter nods, jotting it down quickly before turning to Ryan. “And for you, sir?”

Ryan leans back slightly in his chair, glancing at the menu one last time. “I’ll have the steak, medium-rare, and the roasted vegetables on the side.”

“Very good,” the waiter says, scribbling down the order. “Would either of you like something to drink? Perhaps some sparkling water or iced tea?”

“Iced tea, please,” I reply, glancing at Ryan to see if he’ll follow suit.

“Same for me,” he says, a small smile flickering on his lips as he looks at me.

The waiter smiles again, closing his notepad and taking a step back. “Thank you, I’ll have those out for you shortly. If you need anything else, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

And with that, he steps away, leaving us alone again, the brief distraction gone, and the conversation we’ve been avoiding waiting to begin.

Ryan shifts slightly in his seat, his gaze steady but cautious. “How are you?” he asks, his voice soft but probing, as if he’s afraid of what my answer might be.

The question catches me off guard. How am I? Is he asking about my physical health, about how I am handling the pregnancy? Or does he mean something deeper, my emotional well-being, my mental state after everything we’ve been through? There are different answers to give depending on what he’s really asking. I could tell him I am fine, that the pregnancy is progressing smoothly, that I’ve been managing well enough. But there’s a part of me that wants to ask him how he is, how he feels about all of this, about us, about the baby.

I must look puzzled because Ryan leans forward slightly, his brow furrowing. “You look confused,” he says gently. “Let me rephrase my question. How is pregnancy treating you?”

There it is, pregnancy. It’s what we’re both here for, what’s brought us back into each other’s orbit after months of silence. His question, though simple, holds so much weight. It’s not just about the physical experience of carrying our child, it’s about acknowledging this new reality, this new chapter where we can’t escape each other’s presence.

I take a moment, steadying myself before responding. There’s so much I want to say, but I hold back. For now. “It’s… it’s been fine,” I say, my hand instinctively resting on my belly. “It hasn’t been easy, but I’m managing.”

Ryan nods, his eyes flicking to where my hand rests before meeting my gaze again. There’s a softness in his expression that I’m not used to seeing, a vulnerability that catches me off guard. He’s really trying, isn’t he? But I can’t let my guard down, not yet. I’ve been through too much to let myself fall back into the patterns of the past.

He clears his throat, as if gathering his thoughts, and I can tell there’s more he wants to ask, more he wants to say. But I remain silent, waiting for him to make the next move.

“Tess,” he finally says, breaking the silence. “I’ve been thinking a lot since the other day. About the baby. About us.”

I swallow hard, my heart pounding in my chest. This is it. The conversation I’ve been dreading.

“I want to be involved,” he continues, his eyes searching mine. “I know I wasn’t the best husband… hell, I wasn’t even one. But I don’t want to be that kind of father.”

His words hang in the air between us, heavy and loaded with meaning. I don’t know what to say. Part of me is relieved that he wants to be there for the baby, but another part of me is wary. I remember how distant he was during our marriage, how he never let me in, never gave me the closeness I craved.

“And what about us?” I ask, my voice quieter than I intended.

Ryan hesitates, and for a moment, I think he’s going to avoid the question. But then he looks at me, really looks at me, and I see something in his eyes that I haven’t seen before, regret.

“I don’t know,” he admits, his voice soft. “I know I messed things up between us. And I don’t expect you to forgive me or take me back. But I want to try. I want to try to make things right for our child. And maybe… for us, too.”

The vulnerability in his words catches me off guard, and I feel a lump forming in my throat. This is the Ryan I had longed for during our marriage, the one who is open, who admits his mistakes. But it’s too late, isn’t it?

“I don’t know if I can trust you, Ryan,” I say, my voice cracking slightly. “You shut me out for two years. How do I know things will be different this time?”

Ryan leans forward, his expression earnest. “I’m not asking you to trust me right away. I know I have a lot to prove. But I’m willing to do whatever it takes. For the baby. And for you.”

I don’t know what to say. The truth is, I want to believe him. I want to believe that he’s changed, that he can be the man I needed him to be. But there’s a part of me that’s still scared, still holding onto the pain of our failed marriage.

“I need time,” I finally say, my voice barely above a whisper.

Ryan nods, understanding in his eyes. “Take all the time you need. I’m not going anywhere.”

As we sit there in silence, the weight of our conversation lingers between us. This isn’t just about us anymore. It’s about the life growing inside me, the future we’ll have to navigate together, whether we like it or not.

And as much as I want to protect myself from getting hurt again, I can’t deny that a small part of me hopes that maybe, just maybe, Ryan really has changed.

I just don’t know if I’m ready to find out.