Page 49 of Sold To My Ex's Dad

Her eyes flicker, then she nods slowly. "Okay, if you're sure. I just want to help in any way that I can."

"I know you do," I say, my tone softening as I place a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "And I appreciate it, really. Speaking of help, got everything ready for your doctor's visit tomorrow? Do you need me to do anything?"

She gives a small smile. "I’m all set, thanks. I’ll need to come in late."

"Don’t worry about it," I tell her, already pulling out my phone to adjust our schedules. "I’ll handle it. I’m coming with you."

Her eyes light up with gratitude. "Really?”

"Absolutely," I confirm without a hint of hesitation. "I want to be there for you and our kid."

She steps closer, her arms wrapping around me in a warm embrace that I return firmly. "Thank you, Patrick. That means the world to me."

Allie pauses at the door, then dashes back with a mischievous grin to plant a quick kiss on my lips.

I reach for my phone, hitting redial for Caleb. It goes straight to voicemail again. I rub the bridge of my nose just like before, the gravity of the situation settling in.

I leave another message. "Caleb, it's Dad. Look, we need to talk, son. Please call me back."

Hanging up, I stare at the black screen. Did I push too hard? Did I make the wrong call by not being upfront about Allie and me?

The questions gnaw at me, and I stash the phone away, a heavy sigh escaping me. I’m afraid I've really fucked things up with Caleb this time.

Sitting in the cramped doctor's office, surrounded by the nervous energy of young couples, I'm feeling strangely out of place. Allie is beside me, scribbling away on forms as I swallow down my internal turmoil.

"Are you okay?" she asks, peering up from the clipboard.

I chuckle. "Feels odd to be away from the kitchen during rush hour," I admit, trying to deflect my real concerns.

She gives me a sympathetic smile, her hand finding mine. "You can head back if you want. I'll be okay here."

"Not a chance," I reply, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze. My gaze drifts around the waiting room full of young, eager faces. Here I am, a man with a grown son, surrounded by couples who are likely welcoming their first child, not gearing up for a surprise encore performance in fatherhood.

Allie's voice cuts through my thoughts, her tone light but curious. "When's your birthday again?"

"April 17, 1978," I reply, watching her closely. Her eyes widen a touch, and the realization of our age difference settles in.

I can see the gears turning in her head, the sudden awareness of what it means to be having a baby with someone significantly older.

"How do you feel about that?" I ask, my voice softening.

She pauses, her expression thoughtful. Then, a warm smile spreads across her face. "I'm actually really happy to be doing this with someone who's been through it before," she admits, her sincerity shining through. "You've got the experience and the maturity. That's more than I could ask for."

Relief washes over me as I squeeze her hand in return.

Once we're called to the examining room, I follow Allie, my heart thumping in my chest. I've been through this before, decades ago, but it feels different now, more daunting.

As we settle in, the doctor arrives, brisk and professional. Allie takes her place on the exam table while I hover close by, feeling every inch the out-of-place father-to-be.

"How are we today?" the doctor asks, all smiles.

"Good, a bit nervous," Allie admits.

The doctor sets up for the ultrasound. "It's perfectly normal to feel a bit anxious," she reassures us as she preps Allie.

The doctor positions the ultrasound wand, and the room is filled with the surreal sound of a rapid heartbeat—our baby's heartbeat.

"I love you," I whisper, turning to Allie, overwhelmed by the moment.

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