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He smelled like fucking old money and a dirty raw desire, and I fell for him then, dragged under the wave of that strange, wild combination that was Professor Ambrose Hargreaves and I couldn’t wait to explore more.

Present day

I thought it was an epic love, but he probably had just wanted to have sex with me.

That’s all we ever were , I thought dismissively, as I put the memory firmly away and hurried outside.

My belly was really beginning to stick out now, Finn & I’s baby kicking out and fluttering like a butterfly as I waddled out the door to see my ex-husband and my baby daddy wrestling in the middle of the lawn.

Finn appeared to have several pieces of paper in his hand and he was holding his arm out to stop Ambrose from grabbing them.

“O Indi, your eyes are like a bluebird’s wing,” Finn called out in a high falsetto. “O Indi, your skin is like a creamy bath of marble sculpturing. Who the fuck is taking a bath in marble sculpturing, you dipshit?”

“What is going on?” I cried out as my ex twisted Finn’s wrist.

My baby daddy was built like the back end of a refrigerator, but at this he was forced to drop the papers on the ground.

Ambrose went to grab them and Finn stepped directly on the scattered papers, his boot leaving muddy footprints all over.

“Indi, this fucking fool’s still in love with you,” Finn howled, pointing and laughing at Ambrose.

My blood seemed to run cold, my stomach doing flip-flops in horrified disbelief.

Almost automatically, I glanced over to my ex, assuming Finn was just taunting him.

But Ambrose had fallen to his knees to try to collect the papers. He looked white to the gills as he nodded.

One short, sharp confirmation.

The hell?

Just then my horrible ex kicked at Finn’s kneecap and the other man went down like a sack of rocks, his big hands reaching out to grab Ambrose by the collar and then they were both rolling across the lawn again punching each other.

I heard a crunch as Ambrose hit Finn’s nose, then a crack as Finn’s elbow connected with Ambrose’s ribs.

“Fucking give it up!” Finn ordered. “You lost Indi and she’s mine now!”

“She needs to know how I feel!” Ambrose gritted out.

I realized sitting here and yelping “stop!” was not going to do anything, so I grabbed the garden hose and turned it on full blast at both of them.

My commitment to a peaceful existence with all living things had never been tested more.

They didn't want to stop punching each other, but were forced to when I aimed the powerful jet of water directly between them, Ambrose rolling away and grabbing for his glasses and Finn on his hands and knees heaving.

I directed the water lower, filling in a pool of water between them and the two men got to their feet, eyeing each other warily.

“Can you go get me an ice cream cone, Finn?” I asked quickly. “And a jalapeno? I’m getting these wild cravings and I feel quite faint.”

Finn looked resentfully over at Ambrose.

“All right,” he said. “Don’t touch Indi,” he added, pointing a big tattooed finger at Ambrose. “Don’t touch her, don’t look at her, don’t talk to her.”

“And can you maybe get one for Astrid, too?” I asked, hoping desperately to lower the temperature between all of us so Astrid wouldn’t go into early labor or something.

“Baby, hell no,” Finn said. “That’s not my baby in her. I don’t have to do fuck-all for her. She can get her own damn ice-cream cone.”

He got in his car and drove off as Ambrose dropped heavily down to the curb.

I eyed my ex.

He might be the father of Astrid’s baby. According to the test, he had sperm. His count was just so low that presumably it would have taken a long time to get her pregnant. And it had only been a few months after they got together.

I didn’t want to talk to him, but I knew if I had any hope of a peaceful last few weeks of my pregnancy and a nice relaxing baby shower, I was going to have to try to break the constant tension between the two men.

So I pulled out a lawn chair and sat down in it, Ambrose beside me on the curb, arms propped on his thighs, his head hanging between his legs.

I felt absolutely furious at him.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” I asked through gritted teeth. “Why are you doing this? Why are you getting into fights with Finn?”

Looking over at him, I saw that there were rips and tears all in his collared shirt, and a big bruise was blooming on his cheek.

“I’m trying to figure out how I fucked my life up to this extent,” Ambrose said bitterly.

I noticed one of his hands was shaking as he ran it through his hair.

This was surprising. Ambrose was usually so assured in everything. Usually , Ambrose’s philosophy was that life was perfect and he was a king among men.

“What do you mean?” I asked, stalling for time, because I need to haul myself up and out of this chair and away from this conversation.

This had been a mistake.

I didn’t want to hear his answer. Did I?

“I know you must hate my goddamn guts,” Ambrose said, and his voice was still hoarse from being throttled, “and maybe that poetry was kind of shit. But I just want you to know even though I’m a colossal asshole, I love you and I was delusional to think I could stop loving you.

I don’t think I can ever stop. I’m so sorry I fucked us up like I did. ”

He turned sideways and I clenched my fists to resist the urge to pop him right in the nose.

“What gives you the fucking gall to tell me in my third trimester that you still love me?” I hissed furiously at him, and that was only the beginning of the fury I intended to unleash on his head when a stately Rolls-Royce glided smoothly down our street and parked directly in front of Ambrose’s house.

His mother (oh god) and father got out of the car.

Millicent always had her lip curled up and a cat’s-asshole expression on her face and today was no exception.

“Hello, Mother,” Ambrose said, wiping his hands on his pants and standing up. “What are you doing here?”

“It Is Your Father,” she said in all capital letters, enunciating each word carefully. “I believe he is due for A Little Visit with you. Perhaps you can be a good influence on him, son.”

Oh, god. Millicent had often done this when Ambrose and I were married. When Harold would fall afoul of one of her many insane dictates, he would be sent in disgrace to visit us.

And Ambrose did as he always had done. Nodded like a prissy little saint and promised to do his best, then took his mother’s arm to guide her back to the car, with barely a glance spared for his own father.

“I hate how Ambrose treats you,” I said tightly, as I watched my ex-husband’s ramrod-stiff back and shoulders accompany his mother to the car.

“Ah well,” Harold said, “What are you going to do? He’s a Sagittarius.”

I tsked, torn between affection that he still remembered all the astrological charts we’d done together and frustration that he wouldn’t stick up for himself.

“That is no excuse. He needs to pull his head out of his ass.”

I glared at Ambrose’s back, annoyed at myself for feeling anything in regards to him. I hadn’t felt a thing for months. Why was the old frustration at his inability to see how fucking toxic his mother was creeping back?

I had tried to tell him so many times. But he would never listen.

That was just another reason that it was a good thing Ambrose and I had divorced. He had a pig-headed insistence that his own godlike judgment must be right.

At any rate, Harold seemed perfectly happy to be deposited in Applewood Subdivision, ripping off his toupee and rubbing his freed head contentedly.

“Need any help around here?” he asked.

“I wish you would leave Millicent,” I sighed. “It’s not OK how she treats you. You must know it isn’t.”

For a moment, pain crossed his face, and he looked weary, even his mustache drooping in defeat.

“She keeps a tight hold of the money,” my ex-father-in-law sighed. “I couldn’t afford to live on my own. I’ve had to do some outlandish things just for a little pin money to buy a cigar now and again. Like sell plasma.”

“You sold plasma?” I asked sharply, feeling horrified.

Ambrose’s parents were absolutely loaded . To think of him in his 70s having to go down and sell plasma just for a little freedom!

“Yes. . . among other things,” he said. “But I don’t want to talk about that.”

“Wait, what other things did you sell?” I asked, but Harold didn’t answer, only patted my hand reassuringly. “Don’t worry about me, honey. Let’s just have a nice visit. Want me to make you a cup of rose tea?”

“All right. Rose tea sounds divine. But you shouldn’t have to sell plasma. Anytime you need money, come to me. Please.”

He helped me up and we started to walk back into the house when I noticed a few envelopes had fallen out of Ambrose and Astrid’s recycling bin and into my lawn.

I bent down, cursing Ambrose and Astrid for their messiness, and shoved the papers back into their recycling.

But just before I slammed the lid back down, something insane caught my eye, and suddenly I knew .

I knew who Astrid’s baby daddy was