Page 45 of Her Ex's Father
The words are so bleak, so unexpectedly self-loathing, that a laugh slips out of me before I can stop it. It startles us both.
Ben’s eyes narrow. “You find that funny? That I failed as a parent?”
“A little,” I admit, covering my mouth with a wet hand. “Sorry. Just—you’re Benedict Bronson. You can intimidate CEOs and senators, but your son doesn’t call you back, so you think you’ve failed as a father? That’s… kind of humanizing. And a little ridiculous, Ben. Just because Derrick doesn’t want to live the life you built for him doesn’t mean he’s a failure.”
His brow furrows, like no one has ever dared laugh at his insecurities before. Maybe no one has, because from the sudden air of vulnerability in the steamy room, I’m not sure Ben has ever admitted them to anyone.
Ben exhales slowly, leaning back against the counter.
“You want to keep it,” he says, not a question, and not a response to my attempt at comfort. The change in topic is abrupt.
“Yes.” My answer is immediate, steady despite the fear fluttering in my ribs. “I always wanted to be a mother. I thought it might not happen, the way life was going, or rather it wouldn’t happen...” I trail off, not sure how to admit that I never thought Ben would want to have a child with me. That kids with Derrick was a guarantee, as was the promise of him being an absent father. What kind of father would—will—Ben be?
“But now…” My throat tightens. “Now it feels like maybe I get another chance. Even if it wasn’t how I pictured it. And if you don’t want it,” I hurry on, “then I’m happy to leave. To annul this, if you want.”
My eyes lock on his, sending him a silent message:I’m not giving this up. I’ll let my family’s business crash and burn before I givethisup.
He studies me for a long time, his face unreadable.
The water laps gently against porcelain as I shift, suddenly needing to fill the silence. “Baths help with the nausea. I figured that out this morning.”
His gaze softens almost imperceptibly. “They helped her, too. My wife.” His voice drops, roughened at the edges. “Georgiana. When she was carrying Derrick, the sickness was bad. She spent hours in the bath. Said it was the only place she felt like herself.” He shakes his head, his features softening into something like calm. “I used to call her my mermaid. Wasn’t sure she’d join us on land again, even after he was born.”
Something twists inside me, not quite jealousy, not quite sorrow. I tread carefully. “Did it go away eventually? The nausea?”
Ben shrugs. “Not until the very end, no, but she found ways to cope with it.
The tea. The ginger treats he had Hugh bring me. Were they an olive branch? Why do I find it reassuring that he knows how to navigate this instead of feeling resentful that he’s already experienced it with someone else?
“We tried for a long time, Georgiana and I. Derrick took his time coming. The pregnancy took a toll on her, but she was happy. I was… scared, mostly. Then excited.”
Ben’s features are strained as he tells me about the past, his eyes far away. The urge to stand, dripping wet, and comfort him almost overwhelms me. But what if he doesn’t want that from me? What if that drives me away?
“I didn’t know,” I finally whisper, the water cool enough to pebble my nipples and make me consider getting out. “I didn’t want to ask if it was something you didn’t want to talk about.”
“There’s a lot you don’t know.”
He pushes off the counter, crossing the room to the door that connects my suite to the smaller sitting room—the one that wascovered in sheets when I first arrived. He rests his hand on the frame, not looking at me. Tilting his head.
“That used to be hers.”
I blink. “Georgiana’s?”
“Yes.” His voice carries a faint ache, almost hidden. “She used it for book clubs. Nights with her friends. Laughter spilled down the halls. She was social, loved having people over and doing big dinners, until—” he clears his throat, voice suddenly rough. “Until she got sick and had to slow down.”
I picture it—the room alive with women, glasses of wine, stacks of novels, Georgiana in the center, vibrant and loved. It’s the first glimpse I’ve had of her beyond whispers and shadows.
“I had it made into a guest suite later, since I stopped coming down this way.” The words crack, Ben refusing to look back at me.
“I’m sorry,” I say softly. “That you lost her.”
His shoulders lift, then fall, as though the weight is too familiar to notice anymore. “You don’t need to be sorry. It’s just… strange, sometimes, seeing you here. In the space where she was.”
I sink lower in the water, the warmth cradling me, and for once the silence between us doesn’t feel suffocating. It feels shared.
“I’m not her,” I say carefully. “But I don’t want to erase her, either. If I’m going to have this baby… if we’re going to do this… I need to know the past isn’t a ghost hanging over us.”
His eyes finally meet mine. There’s sorrow there, yes, but also something steadier. “You’re not her. And I don’t want you to be.” He shakes his head, determined, sad, but still here. “The past will never leave me Maddie, but the future seems to be making itself known. Whether I’m ready or not.”
