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As you might have guessed, I wasn’t excited about the holidays this year, but then again, I am. I’ll get to the good stuff soon, but the bad always comes before the good.

For now, you’re probably wondering the bad?

Well, there’s certainly bad and his name starts with an A. Might as well end in an E as far as I’m concerned because I’ve never been more disappointed in him as I am now, and that’s fucking hard to accomplish after the shit he’s pulled in the last five months. By the way, our divorce was final two days ago. Thank fuck.

After the incident at the house a week before Halloween, I was granted full custody of the boys pending a hearing.

Guess who didn’t show up for the hearing?

Austin.

He didn’t call on Thanksgiving, either. It’s now Christmas Eve and guess who hasn’t called or asked to see his kids?

Austin.

He did send them each a gift, one I’m sure was picked out by Brie. They send fucking gift cards to Best Buy. How impersonal can you get? Even my neighbor put more thought into the boys’ gifts.

They even had the nerve to sign the card, Dad and Brie and baby boy Lucas. I ripped the card up and threw it away. Too much?

Probably, but I was pissed off he couldn’t come see his kids.

Wanna know the worst part about this? The boys haven’t asked about Austin or asked to see him in over a month. I’d love to say this makes me happy, but it doesn’t. I feel bad for them not having him in their life.

I’m in the kitchen making gingerbread cookies and attempting to perfect their faces when Ridge comes into the kitchen from outside. He sets an envelope on the island and takes one of the gingerbread cookies and bites the head off.

Then spits it out in the garbage. “I hate ginger.”

I laugh. “You hate all food.” It’s true. Ridge’s harder to cook for than the boys.

“Not true.”

Still trying to perfect the face on the gingerbread man, I nod toward the envelope. “What’s that?”

He shrugs, palms against the counter, leaning in. His expression reminds me of the day in the school when I first saw him after ten years. “Open it and find out.”

“Can you?” I hold up the tube of frosting. “I’m kinda in the middle of something.”

Again, he shrugs. “Guess you don’t care then.” And then he takes two more cookies, leaving the headless one on the counter and disappears into the living room where the boys are playing some zombie video game.

“Take that!” Cash yells. “I ate your face!”

My curiosity gets the better of me, and I reach for the envelope. Inside is a legal form, and my heart races.

I read through it, and it’s a grant deed transferring shared ownership of Calistoga Speedway to me. That’s not what makes me cry. I had a feeling that was coming when he asked me to be the track promoter for the speedway this coming season. I agreed because I wanted to do something like that since I was a kid. Now I finally can.

What makes me cry is who he names as the beneficiaries. Equal rights to Cash Alan Jacob and Grady Nathan Jacob.

My throat tightens, my stomach burning. I drop the papers in my hand, gripping the counter and draw in a deep breath trying to fight the lump rising in my throat.

Nope. Not gonna work this time. I rush to the bathroom and vomit.

I’m not sick.

I’m emotional.

I’m in love.

I’m pregnant and relieved to have a man in my life who’s thinking of more than himself.