Page 123 of Once Upon A Second Chance

I’ve already made a mental list of what to pack. Her favorite deli chicken salad with rosemary crackers. A mason jar of sweet tea—half lemon, because she likes it a little sharp.

One of those caramel apple cookies from the bakery she thinks I don’t know she hoards. Nothing extravagant. Nothing staged. Just her, me, the sound of leaves rustling, and a question I’ve been carrying in my chest since the day she let me back in.

I’m still scrolling through sunset pictures of the park—ones people have tagged online, each one a little different depending on the clouds—when my phone lights up.

Mom.

Returning my call.

I hesitate. Then swipe to answer.

“Hey,” I say, setting the laptop aside. “Good time?”

“We’re just finishing lunch,” she says, the ambient clink of plates in the background. “Your father’s here too. You’re on speaker.”

I stiffen, just slightly. “Okay. I’ve got somenews.”

That makes the line go quiet in the way only parents can manage—a silence that makes your throat dry.

“Two things, actually,” I continue. “First... Penny’s pregnant.”

Another pause. Longer.

Then, carefully, “Oh.”

Dad clears his throat. “I assume this wasn’t planned.”

“I think you meant to say ‘congratulations’,” I reply, trying to keep the edge out of my voice.

Mom jumps in. “Of course—congratulations, sweetie. That’s… a lot to take in.”

I nod, even though they can’t see me. “It is. But we’re happy.”

More silence. I can already feel it coming, the pivot, the undercurrent.

“Second thing,” I say, trying to stay ahead of it. “I’m going to propose.”

That gets the reaction. Dad laughs softly, that little sharp exhale that never meant amusement. “That didn’ttake long.”

The comment makes my hand tighten around the edge of the counter.

“Excuse me?”

“Son,” he says, the calm condescension already sinking in, “you’ve always had a tendency to get sentimental. But you’ve also worked hard to build a reputation, a career. A life. And now this girl from the past shows up, gets pregnant—”

“She didn’t ‘get pregnant,’ Dad,” I cut in, jaw tight. “We’re having a baby. Together. Her name is Penny, and if you’re about to imply that she—”

“I’m saying,” he interrupts, “that people with money have to think differently. That you have to consider whether proposing is an emotional response or a smart one. These kinds of situations—surprise pregnancies, old flames—they can make a man do foolish things.”

There’s a buzzing in my ears that wasn’t there before. I don’t yell. I don’t argue. I just press the red icon on my screen and end thecall without another word.

The kitchen goes silent again, the weight of that conversation hanging heavy in the space where my breath should be.

I stare down at the phone, still lit up, then set it face-down on the counter and step away from it like it might bite.

I shouldn’t be surprised. My father has always treated emotions like liabilities—things to be managed, minimized, or scorned. He’s never understood that loving someone isn’t weakness. It’s the thing that makes everything else worth it.

He thinks Penny’s a mistake. A risk. A threat to my reputation.