Ex-Husband's Regret (Ava and Rowan) novel Chapter 569

“Would you like some tea?” Mom asks, standing up.

Mom has always had a special way of making it. I don’t know how she does it or if there is a secret ingredient; all I know is that her tea is amazing.

I’ve tried making it a couple of times, but no matter how I follow the instructions, I’ve never been able to make it taste like hers.

“I still think you have a special ingredient that you’ve never shared with me,” I tell her.

“There is no secret ingredient, Si,” she replies with a knowing smile, filling the kettle.

“There has to be because how come you’re the only one who can make it like that?” I tease her, watching her move around the kitchen like it’s second nature.

I don’t think there is a single person I know who doesn’t like mom’s tea. Everyone who has a taste of it usually wants more. Even the die-hard coffee fans.

“Maybe the secret ingredient is love,” she says with a shrug.

“Are you trying to say I don’t love myself and that’s why I always fail in making it?” I tease.

She chuckles, leaning against the counter. “Now you’re just putting words in my mouth.”

“You know, you could start a tea business if you wanted to.”

I’m not being biased; her tea is just that great.

She chuckles softly. “Maybe I’ll think about it after I’ve enjoyed my retirement a little bit more… but for now I’ll keep spoiling you with it.”

Mom retired as the head a couple of months ago. So far, she says retirement is great and she doesn’t miss work, but I know she’s not used to a laid-back schedule. She’s used to always being busy so she’s having a bit of a hard time adjusting.

“Besides,” she continues. “Something tells me being a grandma is going to be a full-time job.”

Grandma.

The word lands softly in my chest.

She wants to be a grandma. She’s happy. She’s excited. That alone makes the tight knot in my stomach loosen.

I didn’t even realize it, but I was nervous of her reaction. She knew I always wanted to get married first before having kids and she always supported me on that. I guess a small part of me was afraid that she’d be disappointed now that I’m going to be a single mother.

“I feel like I can breathe again,” I say quietly, more to myself than to her.

Mom turns slightly, giving me one of her gentle but all-knowing looks. “You’ve been holding everything in, haven’t you?”

I nod, my eyes pricking with tears. “I didn’t know what to do or where to start. Everything’s just been so messy since I found out.”

She walks over and places a warm hand on my shoulder. “Messy doesn’t mean the end of the world, sweetheart. It just means we clean it up together.”

Her tea finishes brewing, and we carry our cups to the living room, the same one I grew up in where so many of life’s moments happened. Everything here smells like home—faint lavender, lemon floor polish, and something warm and sugary from a cake she probably baked earlier.

I curl up on the couch, legs tucked under me, and hold the cup between my palms.

Later, after we’ve had dinner, she insists on driving me home. I try to argue that I’m fine, that I can manage, but she waves me off with a playful scolding about "precious cargo."

Honestly, I would have spent the night, but there was Blackie. If only I had the foresight to bring her with me.

The ride back is quiet but peaceful. The city passes, but inside her car, it’s just the two of us and the faint sound of the radio playing some old song she loves. She hums along softly, and I let myself drift in the comfort of her presence.

When we pull up in front of my place, she puts the car in park but doesn’t rush to leave.

“Call me if you need anything,” she says, turning to look at me. “Even if it’s just to talk. Or cry. Or yell. I’ll always pick up.”

“I know, mom” I whisper, my throat thick.

She leans over and kisses my temple. “Get some more rest. And start thinking of baby names.”

“Thank you, Mommy.”

I don’t know what it is about moms, but they always have this amazing way of making everything better. I didn’t know my father, but I damn lucky that God chose her as my mom.

She smiles and after a second or so, I get out of the car. I wave and watch as she drives off.

When I step inside my apartment, it hits me how different I feel. It’s the same furniture, the same walls, and the same faint scent of vanilla, but I’m not the same.

For the first time in days, I feel okay. Still uncertain, still scared—but also okay. Now my hope is that everything will work out and that both I and the baby will be fine.