Page 62 of The Grumpy Billionaire Baby Daddy

"Okay, I think that will be all. Stay strong, Jason. And I know you've always heard it, but never give up. You hear me?"

"Yes, I do."

"Okay. Bye."

As the call drops, I feel a flicker of hopelessness wash over me. But I can't give up just like that. I rise to my feet again, determined to find a way out of this mess. I can't afford to lose everything. There has to be a solution.

My mind races as I consider my options. Maybe I should try and find Fiona? But where could she have gone? And even if she went back to her parents, I'm not sure how I can reach her. The image of her pregnant belly flashes in my mind, and I feel a pang of pain. That's my child in there. I have to find her.

Chapter 21

Fiona

Gazingintothemirrorhas become an odious ritual for me, for each reflection unveils a figure that is twice my size and swathed in a complexion darker than my own. Despite the undeniable truth of my metamorphosis, I stubbornly refuse to acknowledge this new form that has emerged after seven months of unrelenting bodily transformation. Even the shadows beneath my eyes, etched from long bouts of sleeplessness, are a constant reminder of my anxious state. My mind is in a perpetual state of disarray, my worries multiplying and compounding at every turn.

The piercing stares of passersby as I walk the streets only add to my mounting distress. One would assume that the novelty of my predicament would have faded by now, but alas, even after a full week has elapsed, I still must mask my identity with a flaxen wig and a pair of sunglasses - all thanks to Eleanor's suggestion. Though I cannot deny their efficacy in keeping prying eyes at bay, the absurdity of my new appearance only serves to augment my insecurity.

As if that weren't enough to contend with, the notion of raising a child without the guidance and support of a father figure looms ominously in my mind. My meager earnings render me incapable of bearing the financial burden alone, and the mere thought of having my parents assume such responsibility is unbearable. The impending closure of Pet Star, and the crushing weight of loans, merely serve to compound my already considerable burdens.

In the night, tears come unbidden, their source inexplicable. By day, my mind is in an endless churn of anxieties, and the weight of the world seems to rest squarely on my shoulders.

My mind drifts to Jason. He's been calling me every single day since I left the house. I've never picked up once, but my heart tightens whenever my phone vibrates and it's him.

Before me, the reflection in the mirror reveals a figure adorned in a red hoodie, unencumbered by the constraints of trousers. As I brush through my locks, my gaze falls upon my own likeness, and I cannot help but draw comparisons to the character Winnie the Pooh. I release a heavy sigh, my body wilting with the weight of my emotions, and slump back onto the bed with my back to the door.

A knock comes on the door.

"Come in," I say, almost in a whisper.

The door pushes open, but there are no footsteps. I turn my head, and my eyes lock with Mom's. She stands at the door, biting her lip. My heart skips. Talking with Mom has been the most difficult thing. Every time she doesn't look up at me, there's a stab in my chest. And when she replies to my questions in monosyllables, a part of me dies. It's been like this for a week.

She doesn't move from the door.

"Hi, Mom."

I avert my gaze to the dressing table with the mirror on it, holding my breath.

Finally, she walks into the room in tentative steps and sits directly opposite me on the dressing table.

"Is everything alright, Mom?"

She exhales, looking directly at me.

"Try not to hate your body. It's doing an amazing job housing and taking care of another human."

I blink. That's the longest sentence she's spoken to me in weeks. Tears well up in my eyes, but I blink them back and stare at the floor.

"It will also do a tremendous job of introducing a new human into the world. The woman's body is a super machine if you ask me."

She chuckles.

The room is silent again. What's going on? Mom hasn't come into my room since I got back. She's also avoided me like the plague. Of course, it wasn't entirely possible, given our small apartment.

"I missed you," she says, and the tears I've tried so hard to keep at bay come pouring. Mom's talking to me again. The tightness in my chest eases up. She moves from the dressing table and sits beside me on the bed, taking me into her arms.

The sobs come like a broken machine fighting to stay alive. Mom holds onto me tight.

"Oh, Fifi. I'm sorry about my coldness. I was grappling with it. You've never been a problematic kid, and having to move from that to this took quite a lot of mind work. I've gone through anger, resentment, disappointment, and everything else, but I finally realized that you're hurting too. I can't imagine how tough it is for you to go through this all alone. I'm so sorry. "

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