Page 181 of My Big, Fat, Secret Billionaire Baby

“They’re fine,” I say. “Physically fine. But Sabrina… she moved back to her own apartment. With Mia.”

“Moved out?” The confusion in her voice is palpable. “But… why? I thought things were… improving. You sounded so different when we last spoke.”

Yeah, I sounded different because Ifeltdifferent. Before I fucked it all up again.

“It’s complicated, Mom. We had a disagreement. About… about wingsuiting.”

“Oh, Leonardo.” The disappointment in her voice hurts, but it’s a familiar weight by now. “What are you going to do?”

“Honestly?” I tell her. “I don’t know.”

“You have to fix it,” Mom insists. There’s a strength there I haven’t heard in years, maybe ever. “You hear me? You don’t let this happen. You don’t let history repeat itself. Your father… his choices… they cost us everything. They costyoueverything. You have a daughter, Leonardo. A beautiful little girl who deserves her father. And you have a woman who, from what you’ve told me, and what little I saw, clearly cares about you, despite everything. You don’t just let that go. You fight for it. You move mountains if you have to. You use your billions and buy the goddamn Brooklyn Bridge if that’s what it takes. But you fix this.”

Her words, a surprising torrent of maternal fire, stun me into silence for a moment. She’s actually moved me to tears. I’m just speechless. I’d written her off as weak, broken… but she’s a fucking general.

“Your father…” she continues, her voice suddenly laced with that old pain, “he never fought for us, Leonardo. He chose the bottle. He chose escape. And it robbed us all. It robbedmeof a husband, of a partner. And it robbedyouof a father. Of a chance to know him before… before he was lost to us.” Her voice cracks. “Don’t make the same mistakes. Don’t let whatever addiction you’re battling rob Mia of her father. Whether it’s adrenaline or fear or just plain stubborn pride... don’t rob yourself of her. Or of Sabrina. She’s a good girl. The best.”

I stare at the blank screen of the mediaroom, the Chamonix footage still frozen on the moment of impact.

My mother’s words, so raw, so unexpected, resonate deep within me.

Fight for it. Fix this.

“I… I will, Mom,” I promise, my voice hoarse. “I’ll find a way. I promise.”

The call ends, but her words linger.

Her unexpected strength.

Her fierce, protective love for Mia, and for… me?

It’s a new dynamic.

A confusing one.

But maybe there’s hope there too.

But first… Sabrina and Mia.

I have to get them back.

Mom’s right. I’ll move fucking mountains if I have to.

With a sudden, decisive clarity, I pick up my phone again.

My fingers fly across the screen, drafting an email.

Short.

To the point.

No PR spin.

No bullshit.

To:Red Bull Chamonix Invitational Committee

From: Leo Maxwell

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