6.?Ruby says no

Ruby’s POV

I couldn't help but laugh. It was a bitter, incredulous laugh, bubbling up from a place of deep hurt and anger.

"What's so funny?" Dominic asked, his voice laced with irritation and confusion.

I wiped a tiny tear from the corner of my eye, my laughter cutting off abruptly. "Dominic, you think you can just waltz back into my life, claim the child, and everything will be okay?" I shook my head, the humor draining from my expression. "You ruined everything. You didn't believe me when I needed you the most and now you think an apology will fix it all?"

His face fell, the weight of my words hitting him hard.

"Ruby, I know I messed up.” He said, his face softening, infact, I’d never seen him look this vulnerable before. “I know I was wrong. But I am here now, and I want to make things right."

I stopped laughing, my face hardening as I crossed my arms. "And how do you plan to do that? By demanding things as you always do? By taking control of everything?"

He stepped closer, his voice softening, trying to bridge the gap between us. "Ruby, I want to be a part of our child's life. I want to be there for you, to support you. I don't want to take anything from you. I just want to be a father to my child."

Tears welled up in my eyes, but I blinked them away, not wanting to show anymore vulnerability. These were the words I wanted to hear from him six months ago, to hear him give me the benefit of doubt but all I got was a stinging rejection. There’s no way, no way I was going to let him into my child’s life. I’d shown him too much vulnerability and I wasn’t going to let him affect me anymore. "It's too late for that, Dominic. I've moved on. I have someone who cares about me, who respects me. Ethan has been more of a man to me than you ever were."

As I talked, my eyes caught the flicker of anger in his eyes at the mention of Ethan. "You just met him,” he retorted sharply, “I’m sure you think he’s all nice but that’s just a façade, he’s pretending.”

“I really don’t care what he is or not doing, as far as I’m far away from you, I think I’m good. In the few months that I’ve met him, he has treated me better than you ever did while we were married.”

His face contorted in hurt, but I didn’t care anymore. I turned on my heel and walked out, feeling the tears welling up in my eyes. I rubbed my belly for comfort, trying to hold it together. As I made my way down the hallway, memories of those dark days before my stepdad found me flooded back. I had to work three jobs just to survive, crying myself to sleep every night, feeling utterly alone and abandoned.

Those words had haunted me night and day.

“How can I believe a woman like you?” He had said, “you’re so cheap, for God’s sake you married me for money, you married an impotent man for money and you’re telling me you’re pregnant? Make it make sense, if you’re going to lie, make it make sense.”

I shook my head, trying to dispel his hateful words and the memories they had created. I was stronger now. I had Emma, I had a job and I have people who support me.

I kept walking, the hallway feeling longer than ever. Then, halfway down, I saw Ethan coming towards me. His eyes widened in concern as he saw my face. Without a word, he pulled me into a hug, his arms wrapping around me protectively.

“Ruby, what happened?” he asked softly, wiping away the tears that had started to fall.

I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself. “He... he wants to be part of our child’s life. He said he knows now that the baby is his and he wants to make things right.”

Ethan’s eyes flashed with anger. “I’m sorry, what? Is he kidding?”

“No, he’s not,” I replied, my voice barely above a whisper.

“He doesn't get to reject you and suddenly come back thinking you’re going to accept him like that.”

I nodded, feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on me. “Yeah, I’m not sure I want someone like him to father my child.”

“I understand,” Ethan said gently, his hand rubbing soothing circles on my hand. “You don’t have to make any decisions right now. Let’s just get you home.”

He led me to his Lamborghini and helped me into the passenger seat. Once we were inside, he didn’t start the car. Instead, he turned to me, his grey eyes filled with concern.

“Let’s get you home,” he finally said, starting the car.

The drive to my apartment was comforting and quiet, the only sound was the soft hum of the engine. When we arrived, Ethan walked me to my door.

“Will you be okay?” he asked, his eyes searching mine.

“I’m fine,” I assured him, though I wasn’t entirely sure if that was true. “Thank you for today.”

He nodded, his concern still evident. “Don't mention, and if you need anything, don’t hesitate to call me. I mean it.”

“I know. Thank you.”

I watched him walk away, his care and support lingering long after he was out of my sight. Once inside, I leaned against the closed door, taking a deep breath. My apartment felt stifling tonight. I walked over to the couch and sank down, rubbing my belly absentmindedly. The baby kicked gently, as if sensing my turmoil.

I closed my eyes, letting the memories wash over me—the fear and exhaustion of working three jobs, the nights I cried myself to sleep, the moments before my stepdad found me and pulled me out of that abyss.

The worst of it was working as a waitress at that dingy diner, where customers treated me like I was invisible or, worse, something they could step on.

The diner was always chaotic, filled with the clatter of dishes, the sizzle of the grill, and the harsh voices of impatient customers. I remembered that particularly brutal night when the dinner rush seemed never-ending. My feet ached, my back was sore, and I could barely keep my eyes open. A group of rowdy teenagers had come in, demanding service with sneers on their faces.

"Hey, waitress! Get over here!" one of them shouted, snapping his fingers at me like I was a dog.

I forced a smile and walked over, clutching my notepad. "What can I get for you?"

They gave me a ridiculous, complicated order, clearly meant to trip me up. When I brought their food, they complained about everything—too cold, too hot, too salty, not enough seasoning. One of them even spilled a drink on purpose, watching with smug satisfaction as I scrambled to clean it up.

"Oops," he said with a fake innocent grin. "My bad."

I bit back tears, humiliation burning in my cheeks. "I'll get you another drink."

As I turned to leave, another one of them smacked me on the backside. "Nice job, sweetheart."

I froze, anger and shame boiling inside me, but I kept walking. I needed the job. I needed the money. For Emma and my unborn child.

"Mommy! Mommy!"

Emma's voice broke through the haze of my memories. I blinked, returning to the present to see her standing in front of me, her little face full of concern. She pinched my arm gently, bringing me fully back to the here and now.

I smiled and kissed her forehead. "You're awake? Did I wake you from your nap?"

She nodded, her puffy eyes looking at me with worry. "I heard the door open. I've missed you, Mommy," she hugged me tightly.

"I've missed you too, my baby. Have you eaten?"

"No." She shook her head furiously causing me to laugh. I knew she was severely hungry. For a three year old girl, she definitely consumes a lot of food.

"Alright then," I said, resting my hands by the side of the sofa as i struggled to sit up. "I'll make some food for you. How's pancakes?"

"Yay," she screeched in happiness, her hand holding mine as she tried to help me up.

"Let me make the food," Emily-my housekeeper said once she walked into the living room. Her eyes full of pity as she watched me struggle to get up from the sofa.

"It's okay, Emily. I need the exercise. Just help me up, please." I stretched forth my hand, and she pulled me up.

I made my way to the kitchen, Emma following closely behind like a tiny little executive assistant.

Soon, the familiar sounds and smells grounded me as I started mixing the batter for pancakes. I cracked a couple of eggs, whisking them with practiced ease. As I worked, Emma began to sing, her sweet voice filling the room and lifting my spirits. She danced around, her little feet tapping on the tiled floor.

She came up to me, sat on the stool in front of me and placed her small hands on my belly. "I can't wait to see my brother," she said, her eyes wide with excitement.

I chuckled, looking down at her. "Why do you think it's a boy?"

"Girls are gentle and boys are funny. I think it's a boy because he's always kicking you so hard," she said causing both of us to burst out in laughter.

As we laughed, I remembered how Emma had fought so hard for her life. How she had slowly recovered after the surgery, how she had been cooperating with me all along the journey. She was a blessing, I knew she was going to be a good big sister.

Although the rejection from Dominic was painful, seeing Emma smile and live in health made me realize that the sacrifices were all worth it.

The baby kicked again and I bolted, causing Emma to laugh.

"It’s a boy." She said and bursted out laughing.

I finished cooking the pancakes and eggs, setting them on the table. Emma climbed onto her chair, her face lighting up at the sight of her favorite meal.

"Thank you, Mommy!" she said, her voice full of joy.

"You're welcome, my love," I replied, sitting down beside her. Emily brought over a glass of orange juice, placing it in front of Emma.

As Emma ate, her chatter filled the room, her excitement and innocence a soothing balm to my troubled soul.