The line rings.
And rings.
And then—
“Max?” Her voice is soft. Hesitant. Like she's smiling and doesn't know if she's allowed to.
My stomach twists.
I swallow the ache and make my voice flat. “Hey.”
A beat of silence. “Hi.”
I close my eyes. I could picture her. Socks pulled up to her knees. Hair tucked behind her ears. Probably biting her lip like she always does when she's unsure.
“I’m calling about the baby.”
Her breath catches. “Okay…”
“I want to be clear, Nora. I’m going to be there. Every step. I’ll show up to the appointments. I’ll cover whatever you need. The nursery. Medical bills. Maternity leave. Whatever.”
She’s silent. But I hear it—that fragile inhale. That sting of confusion.
She speaks, tentative. “Okay. That’s… that’s good. Thank you, Max.”
I grit my teeth. I wish her voice didn’t still undo me like this.
But I push on. “That’s all this is.”
“Why?” she says, barely above a whisper.
“I’ll take care of the baby,” I repeat. “But as for you and me… there is no you and me anymore.”
Silence. Then—
“Max…” Her voice breaks this time.
I close my eyes. It hurts more than I expected. “I don’t know what game you think you're playing—” I say, my voice hardening.
“I’m not playing anything!” Her voice spikes, panicked and hurt. “Max, what are you talking about?”
“It doesn’t matter,” I say, cold now. Detached. “Just know I’ll be there for the kid. But we’re done. Whatever this was? It’s over.”
There’s a pause. And when she speaks again, her voice is so soft it barely registers.
“Why are you doing this?”
I don’t answer.
“Max, what happened? Did I do something? I don’t—I don’t understand.”
I almost break. God help me, I almost fucking break.
But then I remember Jake’s voice.“Retire on baby royalties.”
And I stiffen.
“Text me about the first check-up and I’ll be there,” I say instead, low and final.
