Page 107 of Babies for the Big Shot

Jonah smirks, grim. “Now you’re sounding like the guy who made that first billion.”

I don’t smile back.

Because this isn’t a game anymore.

This isn’t about shares, headlines, or legacy. This is about her.

And if anyone in this building, on that board, or behind that article thinks they can destroy Sara to get to me?

They’re about to learn exactly how dangerous I can be.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Sara

I’m notat work today.

Because I have somewhere else to be.

And since my boss walked away from me, I’m going to assume that he doesn’t care. But as I sit in the waiting room, hands folded over my stomach, all I can think about is how empty the seat beside me is.

The walls are a soft blush pink, an intentional effort to soften the space. Calmness hangs in the air. A basket of magazines sits nearby, a water cooler hums quietly, and a mural of a stork cutting through clouds stretches across the far wall.

It should be comforting. But it’s not.

Because all around me are couples.

A woman with her head on her husband’s shoulder, both of them smiling over the ultrasound photo in her hands. A man rubbing his partner’s back while she sips ginger tea, his voice low and soothing in her ear. A pair of first-time parents across from me whispering excitedly about gender reveals and nursery colors.

And me?

I’m sitting alone.

In Nick’s hoodie.

Staring at the clock and trying not to throw up from a cocktail of nerves and morning sickness.

I shift in my seat and press a palm to my belly. There’s barely anything there yet, just a whisper of change, a promise of what’s coming. But already I’m carrying a weight no one else can see.

No one but me.

I don’t let the tears fall. I can’t. Not here. Not surrounded by joy, softness, and the hum of quiet, hopeful beginnings. I’m a fragile crack in stained glass, one sharp sound away from breaking apart.

I keep hearing his voice in my head. “You should have told me.”

And mine:“I thought you’d run.”

And then the silence.

The door slamming behind him.

The cold space he left behind on my couch.

A nurse steps out from behind the reception desk. “Sara Brooks?”

I stand, knees trembling just a little, and follow her back through the hall.

The room is small and sterile, but the doctor is kind. She talks me through everything, what to expect, how far along I am, the basics of prenatal care. Her voice is warm, her smile genuine.