Page 114 of Once Upon A Second Chance

And now, with this? With Richard?

It’s like every instinct in him has gone into overdrive.

He doesn’t see me as someone capable of making my own decisions anymore. He sees me as something toprotect, even from the people I love.

And I’m tired of it.

I love him. I always will. But I can’t keep living like I owe him an explanation for every choice I make. This ismylife. This baby ismyfuture. Mine and Richard’s. Not his.

Somewhere between the tea cooling in my hands and the sun cresting over the distant treetops, Irealize I have to talk to him. Not yell. Not accuse. Buttalk. Set the boundary. Make it clear.

Because if I don’t, he’s going to keep pushing. And I’m not going to let him bulldoze the first real peace I’ve found in years.

Not this time.

Mrs. Delaney’s front steps look steeper this morning, like they’re holding a grudge. I stand at the bottom, arms crossed, eyeing the walkway like it’s personally responsible for her fall.

“You don’t need to glare at the concrete,” she calls from the doorway, wrapped in a cardigan the color of oatmeal and smugness. “It already won. Let’s not give it the satisfaction.”

I smile despite myself and start up the steps. “Don’t test me. I’m in the mood to demolish something.”

Richard chuckles beside me, shifting the tote bag full of extra pillows and a heating padwe brought her. “Maybe we should ask the city to install padded flooring.”

“Or a trampoline,” Mrs. Delaney suggests dryly. “If I go down again, I’d like to bounce back up.”

She’s still moving gingerly, cradling her ribs with one arm, but her eyes are clear and sharp. Being fussed over doesn't suit her, but she tolerates it with a kind of amused patience.

“Would you mind putting the kettle on for some tea, Penny? I’m not moving very quickly today, I’m afraid.”

Once she’s settled on the couch, I go make some tea and bring it to her in the living room where we all sit and enjoy a mug, as the early autumn chill lingers in the air.

“I swear,” Mrs. Delaney mutters, “I leave the house one time after sundown and end up with a rib full of gravel. You two don’t know how lucky you are to be young and bendy.”

I glance at Richard. “Speak for yourself.”

“Hey,” he says, mock-offended, “I’m extremely bendy.”

Mrs. Delaney snorts, satisfied.

After a moment, her voice softens a little. “You two were good last night. Didn’t panic. Moved fast. You’re already halfway to parenting.”

The words hang there, gentle and offhanded but hitting me squarely in the chest.

Richard just smiles faintly and says nothing. I press my fingers to my thigh and nod. “We’re trying.”

I stare out the living room window for a beat, then say, quieter, “It’s not the baby I’m worried about, though.”

Mrs. Delaney’s brow lifts in the rearview mirror. “Jesse?”

“Yeah.” I chew my lip for a second. “He’s just... locked into this idea that it’s his job to control everything. To protect me. And I get where it comes from. After Mom died, he stepped up. Too much, maybe. And after everything with Travis, it got worse.”

Richard’s hand brushes mine lightly, but he stays quiet.

Mrs. Delaney nods once, sagely. “Some men think protection is the same thing as love. Usually because that’s how someone showed love tothem.”

I glance back at her. “He doesn’t mean to hurt me. But he doesn’t trust me to handle things on my own. And now, with the pregnancy…”

“He’s drowning in it,” she says. “Trying to fix something that isn’t broken, and pushing you under in the process.”