Page 149 of My Big, Fat, Secret Billionaire Baby

Another email ping. Another. The video must have just leaked wide.

“Thought you said he wasn’t wingsuiting anymore?” one particularly obnoxious one reads.

I never said that. I said no decisions about Chamonix had been made. Semantics, asshole. It’s what we do.

My fingers fly across the keyboard, crafting careful, vague responses.

But the anger remains under the surface. A cold knot in my stomach.

And the betrayal... it stings. Really stings.

He lied to me.

He went behind my back and did the one thing he knew would terrify me the most. And for what? To prove he still could? To chase that high he so craves?

My phone rings. Mom. Of course. Her usual check-in.

“Hi, Mom,” I say, trying to keep my voice even. Mia is babbling in her highchair beside me, blissfully unaware that her father is apparently still trying to unalive himself for sport.

“Sabrina, honey! How’s my grand-peanut? And how are you? You sound a little… stressed.”

Stressed?

Oh, you have no idea, Mom.

The carefully constructed professional Sabrina wants to deflect, to manage the narrative. But the scared, angry, betrayed daughter part, the part that’s terrified of repeating my mother’s history, just can’t hold it in anymore.

“Mom,” I begin, my voice trembling despite my best efforts. “Something… something happened. With Leo.”

“Leo?” Her voice sharpens instantly with that protective maternal radar. “What’s wrong? Is Mia okay?”

“Mia’s fine. It’s… I saw something online this morning, Mom. A video.” The words tumble out. “It’s Leo. He… he went wingsuiting again. He told me he was going to work all week. At the office. He lied.”

There’s a heavy silence on the other end of the line. I can almost hear the gears in her ‘I-told-you-so’ brain clicking into place.

“Sabrina…” The disappointment in her voice, when it finally comes, feels like a physical blow even though I expected it. “I warned you. Oh, Honey, I warned you. Men like that… they don’t change. They choose the thrill, the risk. They always do. Just like your father.”

And there it is. The comparison. The one that’s haunted me my whole life. The fear that I’m doomed to repeat her mistakes, to love men who will ultimately choose themselves, choose the escape over family and responsibility.

And for the first time, I can’t defend him.

I can’t spin this.

Because deep down, I know she’s right.

“He lied, Mom,” I repeat, because I don’t know whatelse to say.

“Of course he did, Honey.” Her voice is softer now, laced with weary understanding. “That’s what they do. They promise, they charm, and then they disappear, either literally or emotionally. Are you okay?”

No, Mom, I’m a complete emotional wreck.

Not to mention an idiot.

I actually started to believe him.

Started to hope.

“I… I don’t know, Mom.” My voice cracks. “I just… I thought maybe this time… with Mia…”

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