Ruthless

CHAPTER 39

Manang extended her vacation because she said she wanted to spend more time with her grandchild. Now, it’s been three months since I last saw her, and I miss her so much. Each day without her feels incomplete. Just like she told me before, I managed to keep it together while she was away, finding little ways to lift my spirits, but it’s not the same without her warmth and laughter around.

Honestly, I can’t wait for her to come back so I can share the news about my pregnancy. I’m bursting to tell her how Clyde has been struggling with my cravings. Just the other day, I craved clean potatoes—ones without any dirt on them. I went through all the trouble to get them, but in the end, I didn’t even eat them because I suddenly wanted them dipped in chocolate. It’s ridiculous, I know, but it’s just one of those funny moments I want to share with her.

I’m also excited to tell her how much Clyde has changed over the past few months. Sometimes, it feels like I don’t even recognize him. He’s been surprisingly kind and attentive, far from the distant person he used to be. I can’t wait for Manang to see this new side of him, to witness how he’s stepped up in ways I never expected.

Now, I’m almost five months pregnant, and time seems to be flying by. I’m filled with a mix of excitement and nervousness as I think about everything that’s coming.

We finally found out the gender of the baby, and surprise! It's a girl, just like we expected. The moment Clyde and I heard the news, a wave of happiness washed over me. I had always felt in my heart that we were having a daughter, and now it felt real.

I couldn’t help but imagine what she would be like—her little laugh, her tiny fingers wrapping around mine, and the way she would light up our lives. Clyde seemed equally thrilled, a rare smile breaking across his face as he absorbed the news. It was a precious moment, one that made all the worries and challenges of the past few months feel worth it.

For the past two months, Clyde had been acting differently—gentler, more considerate, as if same switch inside him had flipped after that day in the hospital. He cooked breakfast every morning, carefully laying it on the small dining table before heading to work. If I wasn’t hungry, he’d scold me lightly, telling me that the baby needed proper nutrition. At night, he’d come home early—earlier than he ever had in the past—and make sure I was comfortable before settling on the couch with his laptop.

One weekend, the afternoon sun poured through the bedroom window, casting warm rays on the floor where I sat cross-legged, surrounded by an array of tools, screws, and wooden parts. Clyde had decided it was time to assemble the crib we had ordered online—a task that suddenly felt very real as we prepared for the arrival of our baby. I couldn’t shake the mix of excitement and anxiety bubbling inside me as I watched him approach the pile of materials like a soldier preparing for battle.

Clyde unfolded the instruction manual, his brow furrowing in concentration. “This is ridiculous,” he muttered, frustration lacing his voice after his third failed attempt to fit a piece together. I could see the gears turning in his head, the way he furiously flipped through the pages, searching for the right diagrams as if the answers were hidden somewhere in the fine print.

A laugh bubbled up from my chest. “Do you need help?” I asked, unable to suppress the teasing tone in my voice.

He shot me a mock glare, eyes narrowing playfully. “No. I’ve got this,” he replied defiantly, a hint of determination shining through. There was a spark in his eyes that reminded me of the Clyde I had known—confident, stubborn, and somehow charming in his insistence.

I settled back against the wall, folding my arms and enjoying the show as he grappled with the crib parts, muttering under his breath. The absurdity of the moment struck me; here we were, two people who had been through so much, and now we were attempting to construct something that would symbolize our new life together. With each screw he wrestled with, I felt a flicker of hope. Maybe this was a step toward something better.