Fighting Redemption(80)

“Ugh,” Fin muttered as she set the glass of fresh vegetable juice back on the breakfast table. She was trialling the recipe her mum had given her and made a mental note to tell her it was disgusting.

Sitting beside her, Rachael began gagging.

Fin’s eyes widened with horror as her own stomach began heaving in sympathy. “Don’t you dare throw that up!”

“You should...” gag “…give that recipe to Ryan. He could…” gag “…use that as some form of torture device on the enemy.”

Grabbing both glasses off the table, Fin stood and walked to the sink, dumping the contents down the drain with relish. “You tell that to Mum,” she said, rinsing them out under the tap. “She keeps foisting all this over-the-top health crap on me, and it’s driving me daft. At least I can be honest and say I tried it, but that’s enough. From now on, I’m going to enjoy these last four weeks of pregnancy by eating whatever the hell I want.” Turning around, Fin tried folding her arms, but her belly was sitting so high, her arms rested somewhere up near her face.

A knock came at the door and Rachael clapped excitedly. “That’ll be the cavalry.”

Fin shook her head, laughing. “You’re more excited about doing up this nursery than I am!”

Later that morning, with her dad and Rachael hard at work painting the nursery, Fin sat on the couch, banned from being near any paint fumes. Deciding to check her emails, she found a reply from Ryan Kendall sitting in her inbox. The beginnings of a smile formed on her face as she clicked it open.

“Fin, love!” her dad called out. “When’s the furniture being delivered?”

“Next week some time!” she shouted back from the couch, her computer wobbling precariously on her rapidly decreasing lap space.

He walked out of the nursery, paintbrush in hand, his brow creased. “You don’t know what day?”

Exhausted, Fin waved at the pile of receipts her mum had laid out over the dining table after their mammoth shopping expedition. “We went to a few stores,” she admitted. “So I guess they’re delivering on a whole bunch of different days.”

Her eyes returned to the computer.



Fin,

I never saw this for us–creating a family together. Not because I never wanted it, but because it never seemed possible so I put it from my mind.



“Fin,” her dad said sternly as he walked over to the table and eyed the pile of receipts. “That’s not very organised of you.”

“Dad!”

“Don’t take that tone with me, miss.”

“I’m trying to work,” she lied, desperate to get back to her email.

Her dad let out a loud hmmphf and disappeared back to his painting.



I can’t believe I’m not there for any of it—that when I come home, I’ll be coming home to a son or daughter. Honestly? I can’t wait. I want to hold both of you in my arms and tell you I love you. Tell you I’m sorry—that I was scared of not being good enough.

Please forgive me.

I don’t want you to think I’m saying this because we’re having a baby. Maybe it might have taken me a bit longer to work it out in my head, but I would have eventually.

I miss you, baby. So much it hurts, but I’ll be home soon.

Please take good care of the both of you for me.

Love,

Ryan.

P.S. I’ve transferred money to your bank account. Please use it for whatever you or the baby needs.



Not good enough for her? That couldn’t be any further from the truth, and her heart felt lighter knowing he finally worked it out. He would be coming home soon and she would be where she wanted to be all along, waiting for him.

“Please come home safe, Ryan,” she whispered softly, trailing her fingers down the photo of the two of them on her computer.

How long ago it seemed now, the both of them smiling at her farewell party. That had been the last night she’d ever spent with Jake, and it couldn’t have been more bittersweet, or more perfect.

Out of curiosity, Fin signed into her internet banking and checked her bank account.

“Holy shit!” she shouted.

The laptop gave up its fight for space and crashed loudly to the floor. Rachael and her dad both came running out, their eyes wild, brushes held aloft as paint flew everywhere.

“Is it the baby?” Rachael burst out, almost breathless with panic.

“Fin?” her dad questioned.

Fin levered herself from the couch and made a grab for the laptop that laid overturned on the ground. “No.” She waved her hand at the computer. “It just fell off my lap, that’s all.”

Rachael sagged visibly with relief. “You’re supposed to be resting. Stop freaking us out! You keep faking your little labour pains to get your own way and it’s sending us all into gibbering lunatics.”

“I didn’t do it deliberately,” Fin pointed out as she huffed about on the floor, trying to bend over with no success. “A little help?” she panted.

Her dad grabbed her arm, none too gently, and assisted her back to the couch. His efforts left a big smear of creamy yellow paint up her forearm. “Awesome. Thanks, Dad,” she muttered as Rachael picked up her computer and set it down on the coffee table.