Mom, Don't Cry! Here comes a new Daddy! novel Chapter 71

Chapter 50 2

Chapter 50-2

“Are you sure?”

“Positive. Now get out of here before I change my mind.”

She hugs me tight. “Promise you’ll call me if you need anything.”

“I promise.” I squeeze her back. “Now go before Jake explodes from impatience.”

They leave, Jake practically skipping out the door. Sabrina throws one last concerned look over her shoulder, but I shoo her away with a smile that feels more genuine than it should.

The second the door closes, my smile drops.

I’m alone. In my penthouse. On what should be a celebration night.

“Great job, Sophia,” I mutter, heading to my wine fridge. “Mother of the year material right here.”

I pull out a bottle-something expensive that I’ve been saving for a special occasion-and pour myself a generous glass.

Then I grab my phone and order a large pizza. Extra cheese. Extra pepperoni. All the comfort food

I can stomach.

Because I’m going to need it.

I’m going to spend tonight alone, binge-watching Netflix, stuffing my face with pizza, and probably crying into my wine about how I got pushed aside by my traitor godson.

But I’m also going to hope-pray-that this works out. That Ethan proves himself worthy of her. That Jake gets his shiny-shoe protector and Sabrina gets the happiness she deserves.

And if it doesn’t work out? If this blows up in my face again?

Well, at least I’ll have pizza and wine to soften the blow when Sabrina kills me.

I settle onto my couch, pulling up Netflix on the TV.

My phone buzzes. A text from Jake, even though they literally just left:

Thank you Aunt Sophia! Operation New Dad is good!

I stare at the message. Operation New Dad.

This kid is going to rule the world someday.

Or become a criminal mastermind.

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Possibly both.

I text back: You owe me big time, kiddo.

His response is immediate: I’ll get you a protector with lots of shiny shoes! Promise!

I laugh despite myself. “Yeah, good luck with that, kid.”

Because unlike Sabrina, I’m not looking for love. I’m not interested in relationships or romance or.

any of that mess.

I had my chance at happiness once.

And that didn’t end well.

The scars are still raw, bleeding, not even close to healing.

The thought brings a familiar ache to my chest. I take a long drink of wine, pushing the memories

away.

It’ll be the end of the world the day I love a man again.

Besides, tonight isn’t about me. It’s about Sabrina. About giving her a shot at a happily ever after

with someone who actually deserves her.

And if I have to spend the night alone to make that happen?

That’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make.

The doorbell rings thirty minutes later. My pizza has arrived.

I tip the delivery guy generously-might as well spread some of this wine-induced goodwill around

-and carry the box to my coffee table.

Then I settle in for a long night of romantic comedies, carbs, and trying not to think about what

might be happening at dinner right now.

And absolutely, definitely not crying about being abandoned.

Nope.

Not at all.

I take another gulp of wine and press play on the most ridiculous rom-com I can find.

“To Operation New Dad,” I mutter, raising my glass to the empty room. “Please don’t let me regret

this.”

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Chapter 50-2

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s Chapter 51

Chapter 51

(Sabrina’s POV)

I glance back at Sophia’s building, guilt gnawing at my stomach.

She looked awful. Pale and drawn, one hand pressed to her stomach like she might be sick at any moment. And here I am, leaving her alone to go to dinner with a man I’m still not sure how I feel

about.

Some best friend I am.

“Mom, stop worrying.” Jake’s voice pulls me from my thoughts. “Aunt Sophia said she’ll be fine.”

“I know, baby. I just feel bad leaving her when she’s not feeling well.”

“She’ll feel bad if we cancel. She was really, really excited about us having this dinner. Right, Mr.

Jason?”

Ethan’s car is parked in front of the building, and he’s leaning against the driver’s side door in a dark cashmere sweater that makes him look less like a CEO and more like a very handsome, very

capable fa…

Wait, what am I thinking?

He looks every bit like the rich CEO he is.

At Jake’s question, he shoots me a glance, his dark eyes unreadable. “If Sophia insisted you two come along, you should. She wouldn’t want to dampen Jake’s mood.”

He’s right.

Sophia wouldn’t want to dampen Jake’s mood. She would hate me if I cancel this dinner because

of her.

So I steel myself, force my feet to move forward, and slide in the back while Jake scrambles onto the passenger seat.

The interior smells like leather and something expensive I can’t quite name. Everything is pristine, spotless. I’m suddenly hyperaware of my dress, wondering if it’s nice enough for whatever restaurant we’re going to.

“Seatbelt, Jake,” I say automatically, leaning forward to check.

But Ethan’s already reaching over, helping Jake click the belt into place with practiced ease. Like he’s done this a hundred times before.

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“All set?” Ethan asks, and Jake nods enthusiastically.

“All set! Let’s go get food! I’m hungry!”

“You had snacks at the academy, like two hours ago,” I point out.

“That was forever ago, Mom. I’m a growing boy. I need lots of nutrients.”

Cham

Ethan laughs, starting the car, pulling onto the road. “Alright, let’s get this growing boy some food. Any preferences, Jake?”

“Ice cream!”

“Ice cream isn’t dinner, baby,” I say automatically.

“Why not? It has milk. Milk is good for you.”

“Ice cream also has a lot of sugar,” Ethan adds gently. “And eating too much sugar at night isn’t

good for your teeth. Or for sleeping.”

Jake’s face scrunches up in that stubborn expression I know too well. “But I like ice cream.”

“How about we have a real dinner first, and then we can talk about dessert?” Ethan suggests.

“There’s an Olive Garden nearby. They have good pasta-”

“No!” Jake crosses his arms. “They serve food with vegetables there. Why do we have to eat

vegetables? We’re not cows.”

I bite back a laugh. Where does he come up with this stuff?

Ethan doesn’t miss a beat. “Cows eat grass, Jake, not vegetables. And Olive Garden doesn’t only serve vegetables. They have pasta and breadsticks and desserts. Besides, vegetables are good for you. They help you grow big and strong.”

“I’m already big and strong.”

“You want to get bigger and stronger, though, right? Big enough to protect your mom like you said

in court?”

Jake hesitates, clearly torn between his distaste for vegetables and his desire to be a protector.

“They have really good breadsticks,” Ethan continues. “Unlimited breadsticks. You can eat as many

as you want.”

“As many as I want?”

“As many as you want.”

“Okay.” Jake nods decisively. “We can go to Olive Garden. But I’m getting dessert after.”

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“Deal.”

I listen to this entire exchange in a daze.

Ethan just convinced my stubborn five-year-old to eat vegetables without breaking a sweat. Meanwhile, I usually have to bribe Jake with screen time or promise him extra bedtime stories.

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And the way he talks to Jake. Like he’s a person worth listening to, not just a kid to be managed or

dismissed…

Dustin never talked to Jake like this. Never regarded his opinions and preferences as important or valid, let alone worth considering. It was always “stop complaining” or “stop being difficult” or “go find your mom” when they interacted.

It’s such a small thing. But it makes my throat tight with emotion I don’t quite know how to name.

The rest of the ride is filled with Jake’s chatter. He bounces between topics with the randomness

only a five-year-old can manage-dinosaurs, his art project at school, his friend Tommy who apparently has two dads now and thinks it’s the coolest thing ever.

When we pull into the Olive Garden parking lot, Ethan parks and comes around to help Jake out of his seat. Then he picks him up, carrying him in his arms like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

I trail behind them as we walk toward the entrance, my mind spinning.

The receptionist greets us the moment we step inside. She’s young, probably early twenties, with perfectly styled blonde hair and makeup that looks professionally done.

Her eyes lock onto Ethan immediately. And the way she looks at him-hungry, predatory, like he’s a meal she’s dying to taste-makes something hot and ugly curl in my stomach.

I bit my lip.

I have no right to be jealous. Ethan and I aren’t together. We’re not anything. This is just dinner. A

thank you dinner.

But watching her lean forward, pushing her chest out slightly, batting her eyelashes like she’s in some bad romantic comedy-it makes me want to grab Ethan’s arm and yank him back.

“Welcome to Olive Garden,” she purrs, her voice dropping an octave. “Table for two?”

“Table for three.” Ethan’s voice is polite but distant.

“We need a high chair as well.”

That’s when she notices Jake. And me standing slightly behind Ethan.

Her expression shifts so fast it’s almost comical. The sultry smile freezes. Her eyes go cold,

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Chapter 51

assessing me from head to toe in a way that makes me feel like I’m being judged and found lacking.

“Of course.” The warmth has completely left her voice. “Right this way.”

She grabs three menus and leads us through the restaurant without another word. No small talk. No friendly chatter. Just cold, efficient silence.

The pettiness of it is almost funny. Almost.

But it also reminds me of something important. Ethan is the kind of man who attracts attention everywhere. Beautiful women throw themselves at him probably daily. Why would he want someone like me? A divorced single mother with baggage and trust issues and a life that’s barely held together?

Oh, yeah. I’m sooo having a talk with Jake after this dinner.

Because if it was only about me, I could’ve just said to hell with the consequences and taken a

shot at dating a man out of my league.

But this isn’t only about me.

This is also about my son.

Jake is becoming too close, too attached to Ethan.

I will not see him get hurt again.

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<Chapter 52

Chapter 52

(Five Year Old Jake)

Jason is the best.

He carries me in his arms as we walk into Olive Garden.

Yes, Olives and Garden. I don’t like the name either. It has olives and garden, which means

everything here is probably just vegetables from the garden. But Jason said their food is really really good, and we can have dessert after, so I decide to trust him this once.

But I feel so tall. Really, really tall when he carries me. Like I’m a giant or a superhero or King Kong.

Even the lady at the front desk has to look up-not down-to see me way up here.

Bad dad isn’t this tall.

Hehe. I bet bad dad isn’t even as tall as me right now.

I wrap my arms around Jason’s neck, puffing out my chest, because that’s what men with shiny shoes do to make everyone get quiet and small and cower in the corner.

Tommy told me that. He said his new dad does it all the time at parent meetings, and all the other dads get real quiet when he talks.

The lady at the counter must feel my power. She stares at me with really wide eyes, being quiet

and small.

When Jason says, “table for three,” she really fastly realizes she’s being a coward. She grabs some menus and gives us a table number quickly so she doesn’t get fired from her job.

That is smart of her. I won’t want to get fired from my job for being a coward too.

We follow her to a table in the back, and Jason sets me down in a high chair. I don’t really like high chairs. I’m five and three-quarters, which is basically six, which is basically grown up. But this one

is okay because it’s next to mom and Jason.

The lady walks away without saying anything, and mom makes a funny sound under her breath.

Jason sits down across from us, and his mouth is doing that thing where it looks like he wants to

smile but he’s trying not to.

“Well, she was rude,” mom says quietly.

“Was she? I didn’t notice,” Jason says, but I catch him hiding his smile.

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Eh? Why is mommy’s face so red?

“You didn’t notice her practically undressing you with her eyes?”

I don’t know what that means, but it sounds bad. Was that lady trying to take Jason’s clothes off? That’s not nice. You’re not supposed to take other people’s clothes without asking.

“Are you jealous, Sabrina?” Jason asks, and now he’s definitely smiling.

Mom’s face goes all the way red. Like really really super red, like a tomato or a fire truck or those

super spicy hot peppers Aunt Sophia ate once to force fake tears to get mommy to let me stay

with her.

“No! I just she was unprofessional. That’s all.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I’m not jealous.”