Page 94 of Her Ex's Father
The procession continues: tailored wrap dresses in jewel tones, a cashmere coat so soft I have to touch it myself, flats made from hand-stitched Italian leather that ease her swollen feet. Every time she emerges, I feel the tug in my gut tighten. She pauses at the mirror in a cream wrap, cradling her stomach absentmindedly. The fabric drapes elegantly over her body, hugging her curves, her glow undeniable.
I can’t stop staring.
“You’re drooling,” she teases, catching my reflection in the mirror.
“Correct,” I say without hesitation.
Her laugh rings out, free and bright, and the sound slices through the guarded walls I’ve built around myself for years.
Halfway through, the attendant appears with a tray. On it: a frosted glass filled with crushed ice swimming in pickle juice.
Maddie freezes. Then bursts out laughing. “You didn’t.”
“I did.” I tip my head toward the glass. “Drink it.”
She stares at me like I’ve just grown a second head. “How did you even?—”
“Hugh,” I admit. “He told me.”
She groans, face flushing, but she takes the glass and sips through the straw. Her eyes close with bliss. “God, that’s good.”
I shake my head in disbelief, but the sight of her so happy makes the absurdity worth it.
“See?” she says, straw between her lips. “You don’t have to understand me. Just enable me.”
“That,” I murmur, “I can do.”
When the attendants finally leave us alone, the silence settles warm and thick. Maddie sits beside me on the sofa, one leg tucked under her, the cashmere wrap draped over her shoulders. She looks cozy, soft, impossibly tempting. I can’t help wrapping my arm around her, pulling her closer to breathe in her scent.
“Ben?” she asks quietly.
“Yes.”
Her eyes search mine. “Why are you doing all this?”
The question pierces me. For a moment, my instinct is to deflect. To talk about appearances, contracts, responsibility. But none of that is true anymore.
I lean forward, bracing my forearms on my thighs, and let the words come raw.
“Because I never expected this,” I admit. My voice is low, rough. “Not you. Not the baby. Not the chance for a new chapterafter I thought my life was finished. And because I’ll do anything to keep it. To keep you. To make sure you never feel lonely again.”
Her eyes glisten. My chest aches.
“I haven’t been as present as I should’ve been,” I add, hating the confession but needing it spoken. “The past few months… I buried myself in work, in obligations. I let you carry too much alone. And I’m sorry, Maddie. I am so damn sorry.”
Her hand finds mine, small and sure. “Ben.”
“I can’t undo what I missed. But I can promise this: from now on, you come first. You and the baby. Always.”
For once, she doesn’t argue. She just squeezes my hand and leans into my shoulder, her breath warm against my neck.
The rest of the morning passes in a blur of fittings, laughter, and quiet moments. The staff orbit us at a respectful distance, every one of them deferential. I can feel their eyes flick to me when they think I’m not looking—intimidated, cautious, but also curious—but I don’t care. Let them think what they want.
Because Maddie doesn’t look at me with fear or awe. She looks at me with something that feels dangerously close to trust.
When we finally step back onto the street, her arms laden with bags, she shakes her head. “That was insane.”
“That was necessary.”
