Chapter 50
Chapter Fifty
Gabbi
Something felt different.
I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but it was there—a quiet, nagging sensation in the back of my mind that I couldn’t shake.
Maybe it was the way my body felt heavier, more exhausted than usual.
Maybe it was the sudden need for naps in the middle of the day, even when I had a full night’s sleep.
Or maybe, just maybe, it was the fact that I had dipped my fries into my milkshake that morning and actually enjoyed it.
I sat at the breakfast table, casually swirling a fry into the vanilla ice cream, the sweet and salty combination weirdly perfect. Across from me, Liam raised a brow, his fork frozen halfway to his mouth as he stared at my plate like I had just committed a crime.
"Uh," he said slowly, watching as I took another bite, "that’s disgusting. Are you pregnant or something?"
I choked on my drink so hard I had to grab a napkin, my eyes going wide. Bobby, who had been halfway through a sip of his coffee, froze. His gaze snapped to me, and for a split second, the entire kitchen fell silent.
Liam blinked, looking between us. "Wait… was that a joke or…?"
I swallowed, forcing a laugh, waving him off. "Ha. Ha. Very funny, kid."
Bobby’s eyes lingered on me for a second longer before he shook his head and took another sip of his coffee. Liam, thankfully, dropped it, but the thought? It did not leave my mind.
Later that day, I found myself alone in the bathroom, staring at a pregnancy test.
It was just to ease my mind, just to prove to myself that I was overthinking. I told myself it was stress, or maybe my hormones just being out of whack after everything we had been through. There was no way I was actually?—
Two pink lines.
My breath caught in my throat as I blinked, looking down at the test, my heartbeat suddenly so loud in my ears that I could barely hear anything else.
Positive. The word echoed in my brain, over and over, until I had to physically sit down, my hands shaking slightly as I set the test on the counter.
Pregnant.
I was pregnant.
A slow, stunned laugh slipped past my lips, my head falling back against the bathroom wall. "Holy shit."
For a full five minutes, I just sat there, processing. My fingers ran absentmindedly over my stomach, a warmth spreading through my chest, a quiet holy hell repeating in my mind. We hadn’t exactly been trying, but we also hadn’t been not trying. And now? Now there was a life growing inside me.
Bobby’s baby.
That thought alone nearly broke me in the best way.
I didn’t tell Bobby right away.
I don’t know why—maybe because I wanted to have a little fun with it, or maybe because I just liked watching him piece things together. Either way, I held onto my secret through most of the evening, waiting for the right moment.
Dinner was quiet, just the three of us, the sound of forks clinking against plates filling the comfortable silence. I sat across from Bobby, watching him eat, knowing that in just a few minutes, his entire world was about to shift.
"I think we should start baby-proofing the apartment soon," I said casually, cutting a piece of chicken and bringing it to my mouth.
Bobby paused mid-bite, his fork hovering inches from his mouth. He blinked, looking at me like he hadn’t heard me correctly. "Baby-proofing?"
Liam glanced up from his plate, chewing slowly, his gaze flicking between us. "For what?"
I shrugged, keeping my expression neutral. "You know… babies like to put things in their mouths."
Bobby’s brows furrowed. His brain was working, piecing something together, but it hadn’t fully clicked yet. He set his fork down, tilting his head slightly. "Gabbi, we don’t have a baby."
I smirked, reaching into my pocket. "Are you sure about that?"
I slid the pregnancy test across the table.
Bobby stared at it.
For a moment, he didn’t move, didn’t breathe. His eyes flicked between the test and my face, like he was waiting for some kind of punchline.
Liam, however, got it immediately. His mouth fell open, eyes wide. "No. Way."
Bobby finally inhaled, voice rough. "Wait. Are you…?"
I grinned, resting my chin on my hand. "Surprise."
Silence stretched for all of two seconds before Bobby pushed his chair back so fast it scraped against the floor. He was in front of me in an instant, dropping to his knees, his hands gripping my waist. His face was inches from mine, his eyes wild, full of something raw, something vulnerable.
"You’re pregnant?" he asked, voice barely above a whisper, like saying it out loud might make it more real.
I nodded, biting my lip. "I am."
Bobby let out a breath, his forehead dropping against my stomach, his arms wrapping around me. His shoulders shook slightly, his grip firm, like he was holding onto me for dear life.
"You just gave me the best damn news of my life," he murmured against my skin.
I ran my fingers through his hair, smiling softly. "I figured you might like it."
He lifted his head, his eyes shining, a slow grin spreading across his face. "I love you," he said, his voice thick. "So damn much."
I cupped his face, pressing a kiss to his lips. "I love you too, Bobby."
Liam, still sitting at the table, cleared his throat loudly. "Uh, guys? Still here. Also, gross."
Bobby laughed, standing up, his arm still securely wrapped around me. "You better get used to it, kid. There’s about to be a lot more love in this house."
Liam rolled his eyes but smiled. "Guess I better start preparing to be the cool uncle."
I laughed, leaning into Bobby’s embrace, feeling lighter, fuller, happier than I had in years. Everything we had been through—the pain, the separation, the loss—it had led us here. To this. A new beginning. A family.
Bobby pressed his lips to my temple, whispering softly, "We made it."
~ END ~
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Amaya
The scent of fresh paint and cardboard filled my tiny new apartment as I plopped down on the bare mattress, letting out a deep sigh.
I was finally here. My own place. My own life.
No overbearing parents hovering over my shoulder.
No unsolicited advice about "what’s best" for me. Just me, my dreams, and the empty walls that would soon hold the beginning of something incredible. Or, at least, that’s what I told myself to keep the anxiety at bay.
My phone buzzed on the nightstand. Mom. Again. I groaned, picking it up before she had the chance to call five more times.
"Mom, I literally just moved in."
"I know, sweetheart, but have you eaten? Do you have enough blankets? What about the locks? Are they secure? Should we come check?"
I pinched the bridge of my nose. "Mom, I’m fine. It’s been four hours. Let me breathe."
A rustling noise came through the line, followed by my dad’s cheerful voice. "We could just swing by, you know. We’re still in the city. A quick drive and?—"
"No." I sat up, glancing at the pile of unopened boxes in the corner. "I appreciate the concern, but I need to do this. On my own."
Silence. Then a long sigh from my mother. "Alright. But if you need anything?—"
"I’ll call. I promise."
It took another three minutes to convince them to let me be before I finally ended the call. I tossed my phone onto the bed and stretched my arms over my head. The exhaustion of moving had already begun to settle in, but my excitement refused to let me rest. I had a bakery to plan.
With a burst of energy, I grabbed my brand-new leather notebook—a gift from my parents, of course—and flipped to the first page.
I tapped my pen against the paper, staring at the blank space where my bakery’s name would eventually go.
I had ideas. Lots of them. Some were cute.
Some were elegant. Some were downright ridiculous. But none of them felt quite right yet.
The soft hum of my mini-fridge filled the silence as I turned the page, sketching a rough idea of the layout I envisioned.
A warm, inviting space. Wooden counters, cozy seating, a glass display filled with pastries that made people smile the moment they walked in.
I could see it so clearly in my mind. Smell it.
With newfound determination, I stood up and marched to the kitchen—well, the tiny section of my apartment that pretended to be one. Time to test some recipes.
I unpacked my mixing bowls, flour, sugar, and vanilla extract from the nearest box, setting everything on the limited counter space.
Baking had always been my thing. My escape.
My way of making people happy. But this?
This was different. This was the first step toward something real.
I cracked an egg into the mixing bowl, humming softly as I worked.
The familiar rhythm of measuring, stirring, and kneading helped ease the tightness in my chest. No customers yet. No bakery yet. But one day…
Knock, knock.
I jumped, nearly spilling the bag of sugar. Who on earth— Another knock, more insistent this time. I wiped my hands on my apron (yes, I’d put on an apron—it made me feel official) and hurried to the door. I peeked through the peephole and groaned.
"Mom, seriously?"
"It’s not just me!" came her muffled response.
I sighed and swung the door open. Sure enough, my parents stood there, grinning like two kids who had just pulled off the world’s best prank. Arms full of care packages.
"You didn’t have to do this," I muttered, stepping aside to let them in.
"Of course we did," Dad said, dropping a bag onto the table. "You need proper food. We know how you get when you’re busy. You forget to eat."
Mom set down a neatly folded blanket. "And warmth! That place gets drafty at night."
I crossed my arms, half-exasperated, half-touched. "I moved fifteen minutes away, not to another planet."
Dad waved me off. "Doesn’t matter. Now, what’s that smell?" His eyes darted toward the kitchen.
"Cookies," I admitted, running a hand through my messy curls.
Mom clapped her hands together. "You were baking already?"
"Testing recipes," I corrected.
She beamed, as if I had just announced I was becoming the queen of England. "Our girl is really doing it. Owning her own bakery!"
I felt the warmth of her words settle deep in my chest. "Not yet," I said softly. "But soon."
After an hour of them “helping” me unpack (which mostly consisted of Mom reorganizing my spice rack and Dad snacking on my cookies), they finally said their goodbyes.
"We’re so proud of you," Mom said at the door, squeezing my hand. "Even if we’re going to worry every second of every day."
I laughed. "I wouldn’t expect anything less."
Once they were gone, the apartment felt oddly quiet.
I sank onto the couch, letting out a breath.
I was officially on my own. My gaze drifted back to my notebook on the table.
The blank space where my bakery’s name would go mocked me.
I chewed my lip, then picked up my pen again.
I had no idea what the future held. No idea how hard this road would be.
But I did know one thing. I was ready.
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