Hell Hath no fury like a billionaire's Ex-Chapter 52: Beneath the surface

Diane’s POV

As we ate, I found myself watching my mother—the graceful way she held her fork, how she dabbed her lips with her napkin after each bite, habits I’d unconsciously adopted as my own. There was so much of her in me, despite the years of distance between us.

"I have an appointment with Dr. Chen tomorrow morning," I said, twirling the pasta around my fork. "Just a routine checkup to make sure everything’s okay after the accident."

My mother’s fork paused midway to her mouth. "What time?"

"Nine," I replied. "Joan has a court appearance, so I was planning to take a cab."

My mother shook her head firmly. "Absolutely not. I’m coming with you, we can use my car."

"Mom, it’s just a checkup—"

"There’s no way I’m letting you go alone," she said, her tone brooking no argument. "Not after everything that’s happened."

I glanced at Joan, who merely raised an eyebrow as if to say, "You’re not winning this one."

"Alright," I conceded, surprised by how comforting her insistence felt. "We’ll go together."

My mother nodded, satisfied, and returned to her pasta. "Good. I want to meet this Dr. Chen anyway. Make sure she’s taking proper care of my grandchildren."

"She’s excellent," I assured her. "You’ll like her."

The conversation drifted to lighter topics as we finished dinner. Joan entertained us with stories from her recent cases, carefully anonymized but no less hilarious for it. My mother spoke of her garden back home, the new roses she’d planted. Simple things, ordinary life that continued despite the drama consuming mine.

Later, as I helped clear the dishes, I caught sight of my reflection in the window above the sink. The woman looking back at me seemed different somehow—stronger, more assured. The curve of my pregnant belly was more pronounced now, impossible to hide beneath loose clothing. I rested my hand there, feeling the solid evidence of my future.

"They’re active tonight," my mother observed, noticing my gesture as she handed me another plate to dry.

"They always seem to kick more after I eat," I replied, smiling. "I think they liked your pasta."

My mother’s lips curved into a wistful smile, but there was something fleeting in her expression, something almost distant. "Your father used to say the same about you. That you’d dance after dinner."

I blinked at her, surprised. She rarely spoke about my father, and when she did, it was always with careful brevity. "Really?" I asked, searching her face for more, but her gaze had already dropped to the dish towel she was twisting between her fingers.

"Mmm." She nodded, busying herself with the plates. "He thought it was the food, but I always believed it was because you were happy."

The mention of my father—gone now for over decades—created a moment of bittersweet connection between us. "I wish he could have met them," I said softly.

For the smallest fraction of a second, her shoulders stiffened. But then she placed a warm hand beside mine on my belly, her touch steady, reassuring. "He would have adored them." A pause, too slight for anyone else to notice. "Just as I will."

I covered her hand with mine, this touch more intimate than any we’d shared in years. "Thank you for being here, Mom."

She nodded, words seemingly stuck in her throat, and squeezed my hand before returning to the dishes. Some emotions were still too raw, too new for us to voice completely.

Maybe it was nothing. Or maybe—just maybe—there was something more to the things my mother never said.

---

Dawn crept through the curtains of the guest room, casting soft golden light across the bed. I’d slept better than I had in weeks, dreamless and deep, awakening refreshed despite the early hour. The thought of my doctor’s appointment brought a flutter of anticipation—another chance to see my babies, to hear their strong heartbeats, to know they were thriving despite everything.

I showered and dressed with care, choosing comfortable leggings and a flowing tunic that accommodated my growing belly while still looking put-together. From downstairs came the sounds of activity—cupboards opening and closing, the kettle whistling, my mother already moving about the kitchen.

When I came down the stairs, I found her packing a small cooler bag.

"What’s all this?" I asked, amused by her concentration as she wrapped sandwiches in parchment paper.

"Lunch," she replied. "Hospital cafeterias serve nothing but garbage. We’ll need proper food after your appointment."

I smiled, touched by her thoughtfulness. "Mom, it’s just a checkup. We’ll be done by eleven at the latest."

She zipped the cooler bag decisively. "Then we’ll have a picnic somewhere. The park, perhaps. It’s a beautiful day, and you need fresh air."

There was no point arguing, so I merely nodded, accepting the herbal tea she pressed into my hands. "Ginger and lemon," she explained. "Good for morning sickness."

"The morning sickness has mostly passed," I told her, sipping the fragrant brew anyway. "But thank you."

She studied my face with a mother’s critical eye. "You look better. There’s more color in your cheeks."

"I feel better," I admitted. "Having a plan helps. And knowing I’m not alone."

She touched my shoulder, a brief gesture that conveyed more than words could. "You never were, Diane. Even when it felt like it."

The drive to the hospital was pleasant, the city still quiet in the early morning hours. My mother insisted on driving, claiming that pregnancy slowed reflexes—an old wives’ tale I was certain had no scientific basis, but I surrendered the keys anyway, content to watch the city roll by through the passenger window.

Dr. Chen’s waiting room was nearly empty when we arrived, just a young couple with a sleeping newborn tucked in a carrier and an elderly woman flipping through a magazine. The receptionist recognized me immediately, her smile warm as she checked me in.

"Dr. Chen will be so pleased to see you," she said, handing me a clipboard with forms.

I introduced my mother, who shook the receptionist’s hand with her usual dignity. "I’m so grateful for the care you’ve shown my daughter," she said, her voice carrying that particular maternal authority that somehow made everyone sit up straighter.

We had barely settled into the uncomfortable waiting room chairs when a nurse called my name. My mother followed as I was led to an examination room, hovering protectively as the nurse took my vitals and asked preliminary questions.

When Dr. Chen entered a few minutes later, her face lit up with genuine pleasure. "Diane! How wonderful to see you looking so well." She clasped my hands in hers before turning to my mother. "And you must be Diane’s mother. I’m Dr. Chen."

"Helena," my mother replied, extending her hand. "I’ve heard wonderful things about you, Doctor."

Dr. Chen beamed. "The pleasure is mine. Your daughter is one of my favorite patients—though don’t tell the others I said so." She winked at me before turning serious. "Now, how are you feeling since the accident? Any pain, dizziness, unusual symptoms?"

I detailed my recovery—the occasional headaches that had mostly faded, the lingering bruise on my hip that was slowly turning a faded yellow-green, the mild Braxton Hicks contractions I’d experienced.

Dr. Chen listened attentively, making notes in my chart. "And emotionally? Stress levels? Sleep patterns?"

I hesitated, aware of my mother watching carefully. "Better than before," I said honestly. "I’m sleeping more, worrying less. Having support helps." I glanced at my mother, who gave me an encouraging nod.

"Excellent," Dr. Chen said, setting aside her notes. "Now, let’s have a look at those babies, shall we?"

The familiar routine of the examination followed—blood pressure (normal), weight check (exactly where it should be), urine test (no sign of protein or glucose). Then came the moment I’d been waiting for: the ultrasound.

I settled back on the examination table, lifting my tunic to expose my rounded belly. My mother stood at my shoulder, her hand finding mine as Dr. Chen spread the cool gel across my skin.

"There they are," Dr. Chen said warmly as the grainy black-and-white image appeared on the screen. "Your little ones, right on schedule."

My mother’s grip tightened as she leaned closer, her breath catching. "Oh, Diane," she whispered, voice thick with emotion. "Look at them."

And there they were—my twins, their profiles clear now, little hands and feet visible, two distinct heartbeats pulsing in perfect rhythm. Dr. Chen pointed out features as she moved the wand: a spine curved like a string of pearls, the round dome of a head, the flutter of a tiny heart.

"Would you like to know the genders now or you’re still insistent on your ealier decision?" Dr. Chen asked, glancing between me and my mother. "I have a pretty clear view."

I hesitated, caught off guard by the question. I hadn’t thought about it, hadn’t considered whether I wanted to know now. I looked up at my mother, seeking guidance.

"It’s entirely your decision, sweetheart," she said softly. "Whatever feels right to you."

I turned back to Dr. Chen. "Yes," I decided. "I’d like to know."

Dr. Chen smiled, moving the wand slightly. "Baby A," she said, pointing to the screen, "is a boy." She shifted the wand again. "And Baby B is a girl. Congratulations, Diane. One of each!"

Tears filled my eyes as the reality sank in. A son and a daughter. My children. My family.

"Perfect," my mother whispered, her own eyes glistening. "Absolutely perfect."

Dr. Chen printed several images for us, then wiped the gel from my belly. "Everything looks wonderful, Diane," she said as I readjusted my clothing. "Your blood pressure is normal now, and you’re looking much healthier than when I saw you after the accident. Whatever you’re doing, keep doing it."

"And about the stress?" my mother interjected ever vigilant. "Please help talk to her to avoid stress, she’s too stubborn."

Dr. Chen nodded. "As much as possible, yes. Stress isn’t good for mother or babies. But Diane seems to be managing beautifully." She patted my hand. "Come back next week for another check, just to be sure everything continues to progress normally. And call immediately if you experience any unusual symptoms."

As we left the examination room, the ultrasound images safely tucked in my purse, I felt a lightness I hadn’t experienced in months. My babies were healthy. I was healthy.

"That was..." my mother began as we walked to the car, then seemed unable to find the right words.

"Incredible?" I suggested.

She nodded, her eyes still misty. "To see them like that, so perfectly formed already. A boy and a girl." She shook her head in wonder. "Have you thought about names?"

I hadn’t, not really. Names had seemed too permanent, too real when I was still reeling from Liam’s betrayal, still uncertain about the future. "Not yet," I admitted. "But I think I’m ready to start considering it now."

My mother smiled, linking her arm through mine as we walked through the hospital parking lot. "No rush. The perfect names will come to you when they’re ready."

As promised, my mother drove us to a small park near the hospital, insisting I needed fresh air and sunshine. We found a bench beneath a sprawling oak tree, where dappled sunlight played across the wooden slats. With the practiced ease of someone who had prepared countless picnics, she unpacked her cooler, producing sandwiches, fruit, and thermoses of hot tea.

"You thought of everything," I said, accepting the sandwich she handed me.

She smiled. "Old habits."

We settled into easy conversation, the afternoon warm and peaceful. For the first time in months, I felt truly at ease. We laughed over old memories, my mother teasing me about childhood moments I barely remembered.

Then, for the briefest second, her expression flickered—just enough for me to notice. Her eyes darted past me, her fingers stilling around the lid of her thermos.

"Mom?" I asked, lowering my cup.

She blinked and gave a small chuckle, shaking her head. "Oh, nothing. I just thought I saw someone... I knew."

I glanced over my shoulder, scanning the park. A couple strolled hand in hand along the path, and an elderly man fed breadcrumbs to pigeons by the fountain. Nothing seemed unusual.

"Who?" I asked, turning back to her.

She waved a hand dismissively. "No one, really. Just someone who looked familiar, but I must’ve been mistaken." She took a sip of her tea as if the moment had already passed. "Anyway, where were we?"

I hesitated but decided to let it go. My mother had always been good at reading me, and maybe she sensed how much I needed this moment of peace.

We finished our picnic and packed up, the afternoon sun casting golden light over the park. But as we walked back to the car, I couldn’t shake the feeling that—for just a second—something had unsettled her.