In the heart of Los Angeles, amidst the glitz and glamour of the city, Jennifer navigates the complexities of life with a lingering ache from her past. Scarred by the turmoil of broken relationships and fractured family dynamics, she finds solace in...
Ben's birthday rolled around, and I hit the 30-week mark with our twins. Excitement's brewing inside me about meeting our girls, but there's this petty drama, so Ben and I are in a silent standoff. It's weirdly peaceful, though. I've got the whole bed to myself, no disruptions at night for sex, and it's just me, my pregnancy, and the soon-to-arrive little ones.
But there's little Violet, Ben's daughter from an affair. Despite the mess, she's an innocent kid, and we're doing alright. She's a bit on the shy side, but I'm catching glimpses of her personality each day. It's bittersweet, seeing her intelligence and independence, but it makes me sad knowing she missed out on her mother's care.
Dressed in comfy sweats and one of Ben's oversized t-shirts, I was in the kitchen juggling breakfast and making Ben's favorite cake. I mean, we might not be talking, but I'm not about to skip his birthday tradition.
The kids, Eliana, Lola, and Violet, wandered in, curious about the kitchen hustle.
I asked them, "Where's daddy?"
Eliana, rubbing her sleepy eyes, whispered, "In his office."
"Go tell him breakfast is ready," I encouraged her with a smile.
Off she went, and after a soft knock, Ben's voice came out a bit sharp, "What do you want?"
"Daddy, it's me," Eliana replied, her voice small.
Seeing her, Ben's tone changed. "Oh, hi munchkin. Sorry, I thought you were someone else. What's up, princess?"
Ellie, with hopeful eyes, said, "Momma made breakfast. Let's go, please?"
"Alright, princess," he said, finally smiling as they headed down.
The breakfast scene was warm with the kids wishing Ben a happy birthday, and Violet chimed in with her shy voice. I offered my wishes too, even if Ben's response was just a grunt.
While they ate, I continued making the cake, soaking in the distant sound of their laughter, wishing Ben and I could mend things.
I spent the morning baking and decorating, catching brief moments with Ben. I even asked about plans for the day, but then he just disappeared.
The physical strain of the day hit me, and I paused, feeling the ache in my back. Despite the pain, I cleaned up after the breakfast chaos, struggling with the discomfort.
45 minutes later, I finished the cakes, decorating them with care, holding onto a sliver of hope that Ben might appreciate the gesture.
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Once I was finished, I put the cake in the fridge then went upstairs to my room to take a shower. Immersed in the soothing cascade of the shower, I was lost in a world of warmth and water. Suddenly, my peace was disrupted by the abrupt entrance of Ben. Without a word, he invaded the space to retrieve his clothes, his every movement charged with an unspoken tension. The air seemed to thicken as he changed, the silence between us a palpable entity. Then, with a dramatic exit, he stormed out, the door slamming shut behind him, sounding like a thunderclap, jolting me back to reality and marking his fleeting yet turbulent presence.
