CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 19
Ivy
It’s been a month since that text.
Just one line, but enough to slice me wide open.
I want to know the minute my child is born. Until then, tell me where to send the checks.
After that? Nothing. No calls. No follow-up. No questions about how I’m doing.
Just silence—cold, infuriating silence. Well, silence… and the money.
The first check showed up in a plain white envelope about a week after the text. Vanessa had been over, helping me sort through the millions of bassinets online, when it slid through the mail slot like a bomb wrapped in paper. I picked up all the mail and put it away. That one, however, I grabbed my pen and wrote “return to sender” on it.
It was from Carter Volcor, and the address on it, I assume, is one of his properties. I dropped it back on the floor so I could remember to grab it on my way out to put in the mailbox so it could be returned.
Vanessa picked it up. She held it to the light and squinted.
“Ivy,” she said slowly. “Is my vision suddenly dotted or are these all zeroes I’m looking at? Is this a million fucking dollars?”
I didn’t answer.
Because yes, it was.
A million dollars. No note. No explanation. Just a number with a signature at the bottom, like I was a problem he could pay off.
Another check followed. Like he was setting up some kind of billionaire child support subscription plan.
What he doesn’t understand—what he never understood—is that this was never about money. It was about us. Or what I thought we were. I know he thinks I betrayed him, but if you love someone, truly love someone, like he’d said he did, why not give them a chance to explain? An opportunity to overcome the obstacle?
I sit now in the corner of the nursery, surrounded by unopened boxes and tiny onesies I can barely look at without crying. My hands rest on my stomach as the baby rolls beneath my skin, stretching, reminding me they’re almost here.
We’re in the final stretch. And I’m doing this alone.
He showed up here last week, unannounced. No warning. Just… there. I am so grateful that my brother and Marissa had come by to drop off gifts for the baby or I don’t know what I would have done.
The doorbell rang, and I remember standing frozen in the hallway, heart pounding as Jeremy answered it. I knew it was Carter before I even saw him.
I caught a glimpse of him past my brother’s shoulder—tall, tense, jaw tight like he was holding back everything he didn’t know how to say.
And I walked away. Not because I didn’t want to talk. God, I wanted to talk. I wanted to scream at him, ask him why he never responded to all the texts before that one. Ask him if I ever meant anything at all. But what would be the point? He made it clear where he stood. And I refuse to be some tragic cliché who ends up with the father of her child just because of a shared biology and one night under a stormy sky.
We may be having a baby, but that doesn’t mean we’re having a life together. Once the baby is born, we’ll figure out custody. He can raise the child when it’s his time. I’ll do the same when it’s mine. Split weeks. Alternate holidays. Smooth transitions. Clean.
He can buy the things he needs to buy and pay for the things he needs to pay for, and I’ll do my part. I don’t want any of his money to come to me. I already know he’s a great dad so I have no reason to doubt he will do his part. That’s my theory, anyway. It sounds neat and empowering in my head.
But the truth? It doesn’t feel empowering. It feels like heartbreak. Dressed up as control.
Because deep down, some small, stubborn part of me thought what we had was real.
Not just chemistry. Not just heat. Something real.
And the worst part is… I still feel it.
Even now. Even after all this time. Even after the cold text, the silence, the money, and the unanswered questions.
I still feel him.
I still want him.
And I hate myself for it.
I run my fingers along the edge of the bassinet I haven’t finished building, trying to pull myself together.
“No matter what,” I whisper to the baby, my palm pressed gently against the swell of my belly, “you’re going to be loved. So damn loved.”
Because I can’t control Carter—what he says, what he does—but I know one thing for sure: he’s going to love this baby.
I sit there a while longer, thinking. Thinking about Carter, about the times we shared, about our baby.
I don’t know if it’s the hormones or just the mess of everything, but before I know it, I’m crying. Full-blown ugly crying. Snot running down my nose, chest heaving, the whole works.
Vanessa walks in like the hero she always is—arms full of ice cream, sardines, and Cheeto Puffs.
Don’t ask.
She freezes in the doorway, eyebrows shooting up as she stares at me with exaggerated horror.
“Awww, Ivy! I was gone for, like, thirty minutes, and this is what I come back to?” she says, setting the snacks down.
I try to respond, but all that comes out is a choked sob. I wave instead, useless, tears pouring down my face like a broken faucet.
Her phone rings, and she lifts a finger. “Give me one second, honey.”
She steps aside to take the call, smiling almost instantly.
“Hey,” she says, practically beaming. “Yeah, I would love to.” A pause. “Okay, alright. Me too. Bye.”
She ends the call, still smiling. And now I’m smiling too—while sobbing. Which makes no sense at all. My face is red, my nose is running, and I’m grinning from ear to ear like an idiot. I lunge up—waddle, really—to hug her.
“Oh my God, Vanessa, you loveeeeee him?” I say through tears, trying to tease.
But it comes out like a wounded moan and I start crying all over again.
“What the heck is wrong with me?” I groan. I stretch my arms toward her, wanting a hug, and she immediately puts up her hands like I’m a biohazard.
“Ewww, no! Clean your nose,” she says, tossing a pack of tissues at me like she’s saving her own life. I blow my nose, wipe my face, and collapse onto the couch like I just ran a marathon.
At nearly seven months pregnant, I’m swollen, exhausted, and getting to the point where rolling over in bed feels like a three-point turn.
“Come, sit,” I say, patting the cushion beside me. “We need to talk about this ‘I love a man’ situation.”
She grins, and slides onto the couch beside me, crossing her legs like she’s settling in for a tea spill.
“Okay, so—remember that guy who asked me out and I told him no because I didn’t want to complicate things? But you insisted I give him a chance and ignored all my calls for a week until I sent proof I said yes to that first date?”
I squint at her. “Yes. Your boss. Tony. But sure, let’s pretend like he’s some mystery man.”
She bites her lip, eyes sparkling like a middle schooler with a crush.
“Well… he invited me to a wedding. And I said yes.”
I gasp. “You did not!” Then my eyes go wide. “Wait. That was him on the phone just now?”
She shrugs, trying to play it cool. “Maybe.”
“Awww, friend! When did this even happen? I know the first date went well, but you didn’t say anything after that.”
“I know,” she says, her voice softening. “But you’ve had so much going on. I didn’t want to add to it or make you feel worse.”
My eyes fill again. “Vanessa… now I feel bad that you felt the need to hide that. I’m so sorry, Ness.”
She holds up both hands like they’ll somehow block my emotions. “Okay, Ivy, please do not cry again. We just got your nose situation under control.”
I laugh around the lump in my throat.
“Besides,” she continues, “I know how you can make it up to me.”
I raise a brow. “I’m listening.”
“Well, he said he’d be running a little late to the wedding, but he’ll make sure I’m on the guest list… and I’m allowed to bring someone with me so I’m not awkwardly standing alone.”
“Okay, so you’re taking Jeremy? I’m sure Marissa won’t mind.”
She glares at me. “Ivy! What would I look like bringing my best friend’s brother to a wedding with my boss?”
I roll my eyes. “Come on, Ness. I don’t wanna go,” I whine, pouting like a toddler denied dessert. “I’ve been working from home for months. I don’t even have anything that fits me.”
“I don’t have anything to wear either,” she says with a shrug. “Which is exactly why we need to go shopping.”
“Oooh,” I say, perking up. “It has been a while.” I throw my hand in the air like I’m pitching a fashion line. “I can see it now—we find you something that says, ‘I’m not for sale… but this cat is negotiable.’”
Vanessa bursts out laughing. “What does that even mean? What would I wear for that? A tight red dress with a hole cut out right at the bottom?”
“Exactly,” I say with a wicked grin. “Yours red. Mine black. Classic combo.”
“Or,” she says, catching her breath, “we could wear gowns. You know, like grown-ups.”
We both laugh until we can’t breathe. And just like that, I feel like myself again—for a minute, at least.
The next morning, she picks me up and we go dress shopping. The moment she said it, we both knew I was going. That’s how we work—always have each other’s backs, no matter what.
While I’m trying on a flowy green number that actually makes me feel halfway human, my phone buzzes from the bench where I left it. Vanessa picks it up, then freezes.
She stares at the screen.
“Why is Carter calling you?” she asks, brows knitting.
I pull the curtain aside, halfway zipped into the dress. “I don’t know. He sent me a text a few days ago, and I didn’t respond. Maybe he’s following up.”
Vanessa stares at me like I’ve grown a second head. “Wait, what? Now you’re ghosting him?”
I shrug. “Whoa, whoa—okay, let’s not throw around heavy accusations like ghosted. He texted ‘hey,’ and then followed it up with ‘can we talk.’ That’s not exactly deep.”
“And you ignored it?”
I zip the dress the rest of the way and step out. “No. I didn’t ignore him. He ignored me. For months. I sent a thumbs down emoji. That felt fair.”
Her jaw drops. “You sent him a thumbs down?”
“Yup. And when he followed up with ‘please,’ I left him on read.”
Vanessa collapses onto the bench, rubbing my back. “You are an unhinged legend, and I love you deeply.”
It might look like I’m being petty, but that’s not it. I’m just too pregnant, too moody, and too damn tired to wrap myself up in Carter’s chaos right now.
Do I love him? Oh, god… yes. Every inch of me still does. But does he love me? Clearly not. I’ve got an appointment coming up to find out the baby’s sex, and when I do, I’ll share it with him because he deserves to know. But until then?
There’s nothing else to say.
Not until he decides he actually wants to talk to me—not just the mother of his child.
Three days later…
After the appointment, I sit in my car for a long time.
The sonographer was sweet and gentle. She asked if the father was coming. I smiled and said no, but that I’d tell him soon. She didn’t ask any more questions after that.
A little boy is growing inside me. Mine. Ours.
I press my hand to my stomach and feel him shift, like he knows I’m thinking about him. And his daddy Carter.
I open the voice memo app on my phone. I stare at the red record button for a second before tapping it.
I take a breath and begin.
“Hey, Carter. I just left my appointment. Everything looks good. The baby is healthy. Strong heartbeat. Ten fingers. Ten toes. And, um… it’s a boy.”
I pause. My voice shakes, and I clear my throat before continuing.
“I thought maybe I’d feel different, you know? Less emotional. More… prepared. But I don’t. I just keep wondering what you’d say if you were here. Wondering if you’d smile. If you’d care.”
I sigh, glancing out the windshield at the blue sky that feels far too calm for everything churning inside me.
“I wasn’t trying to shut you out. I was just trying to protect what little peace I had left. And maybe… protect myself from hoping for too much again.”
Silence.
I let it hang there, let my emotions sit in the air like fog, heavy and unspoken.
“I’ll send you the ultrasound if you want it. Or not. Your call.”
I end the recording.
My thumb hovers over the send button. Just a tap, and it’s done.
But I don’t.
Instead, I hit save and tuck the phone into the passenger seat beside me.
I want to drive off and stick with my decision not to send the message, but I couldn’t stop staring at the ultrasound photo.
Our son.
Tiny fingers, squirming legs, full of life and energy. Moving so freely inside me like he already knew the world had space for him.
And I remembered something—something I hadn’t let myself feel in a while.
He was made with love. Real love.
And maybe, despite everything that’s happened… maybe Carter and I deserve a chance to see what that love could become.
I grab my phone again, and my hand hovers over the voice memo I recorded just minutes earlier. I hesitate for half a second, then press send.
The message flies off into the ether. My heart goes with it.
I set the phone down in the passenger seat and close my eyes.
Then it buzzes.
Carter’s name lights up the screen.
My breath catches. I swipe to answer, already spilling over with emotion.
“Carter, I’m sorry,” I blurt, the words tumbling out of me faster than I can stop them. “I’m sorry about everything I did, okay? I should’ve told you everything from the beginning, but I was scared. I didn’t know how to explain it. I had fallen in love with you, and it all happened so fast, and I just didn’t want to lose what we had. I tried to pull the article, but it was already too late.”
I keep going, barely pausing to breathe.
“I just… I really want to find our way back to that night on the beach. Before all of this. I’m willing to try if you are. Just say yes.”
Silence.
Then a voice I don’t recognize.
“Well, well, well,” a woman says, thick with mockery. “Carter’s still the charmer, huh? Aren’t you the woman who tried to ruin his company?”
My stomach drops. The air sucks out of the car like someone opened a vacuum.
“I—sorry,” I stammer. “Is Carter there?”
“Oh, sweetie,” she says, her tone turning cruel. “Carter’s with our daughter. We’re just about to head out for family dinner.”
I blink, frozen. What? He said he and Laura’s mother hadn’t been in a relationship for years.
“I’m sure you received the checks,” she continues casually. “So just take it and move on, little girl.”
And then the line goes dead.
I stare at the phone, the silence so loud it rings in my ears.
For a moment, I just sit there, numb. Then the pain hits all at once, slamming into my chest and rising to my throat like I’m about to drown in it.
Why do I keep doing this to myself?
Why do I keep hoping he’s someone he’s not?
Why do I keep handing my heart to a man who clearly doesn’t want it?
Tears blur the screen. My fingers tighten around the phone before I toss it into the cupholder.
I was willing to try. Willing to believe in something broken.
But I guess I was the only one.
I rub my belly gently, and a moment later, feel a tiny kick. A sad smile tugs at my lips.
“I guess it’s just me and you, bud.”