Page 113 of My Big, Fat, Secret Billionaire Baby

“Yes, honey, it’s me,” she says, her voice thin, reedy, laced with the faux brightness I remember from childhood. You know, the kind that always preceded bad news or drunken apologies. “I… I saw the news. The pictures online. Of you… and the little girl.”

Of course.

Fucking tabloids.

They reach all the way back to Boston, apparently. Dredging up ancient history along the way.

“I see,” I reply.

“It’s true then?” she presses, her voice trembling slightly. “You have a… daughter?”

“Yes,” I bite out, the word clipped. Every defense mechanism slams into place. The hurt little boy hiding behind the billionaire wall. “I do.”

“Oh, Leonardo,” she breathes, and I can practically hear the manufactured tears welling up. “A granddaughter! I have a granddaughter! Why didn’t you tell me?”

Why didn’t I tell you?

The question is so fucking absurd, so monumentally clueless, that a harsh laugh escapes me. “Seriously? You’re asking me that? After… everything?”

The unspoken history hangs heavy between us... the neglect, the chaos, the years of silence broken only by the occasional, obligatory holiday calls managed by Michelle.

“This is different!” she insists, desperation creeping into her voice. “This is family! My grandchild! I need to see her, Leo. I want to be part of her life. Please.”

The plea digs under my skin, reopening old wounds I thought were long sincecauterized.Her, wanting to be part of Mia’s life? The woman who was barely present in mine? Who chose my father’s addiction over her own son time and time again? The hypocrisy is fucking staggering.

“No,” I say flatly. The rejection is instinctive. Protect Mia. Protect myself. Keep the poison out. “That’s not happening.”

“Leo, please! Don’t shut me out again! This is my chance…ourchance… to fix things!”

“There’s nothing to fix,” I lie coldly. “My life is fine. Mia’s life will be fine. Without…”

Without you.

“You can’t do that!” Her voice rises, cracking with emotion. Real or manufactured, I can’t fucking tell. “She deserves to know her grandmother!”

“She deserves stability,” I counter, my voice hard as granite. “Something you know fuck-all about providing.”

The silence on the other end is heavy. Wounded.

Good.

Let her feel it for a change.

Still, I feel a twinge of guilt.

You shouldn’t talk to your mother like that.

I sigh. “I’m sorry mom. I didn’t mean to word it like that.”

“No,” she says. “It’s fine. I understand. You... you don’t want me in your life. But please... just… just think about it, Leonardo.” Her voice sounds choked. “For her sake.”

The line clicks dead.

I stare at the phone, my hand clenched into a fist, my knuckles white. My heart is pounding, not with excitement, but with old familiar rage. Not to mention a grief so deep it feels like part of my bone marrow.

Fuck her.

Showing up now, after all these years, trying to play the doting grandmother? After the wreckage she presided over?

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