The Heiress's Comeback-Chapter 251: [ Volume 1] Chaper - Pregnant leave or stay?
"Esme... if you knew... if you only knew how much you mean to us," he said, his voice breaking. "We don’t want to lose you. I just..." He trailed off, unable to find the words, as he closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against hers.
And in that moment, Esme’s fear began to ease. She had come home, and the warmth of Ray’s touch, the urgency in his eyes—it was enough to remind her that, no matter her doubts, her place was here. And these brothers, even in their anger and hurt, were hers.
Esme looked up at Ray with wide, innocent eyes, her lips twitching in amusement, barely able to hold back a smile. Finally, her resolve broke, and a playful grin spread across her face as she teased, "Yes, Ray, it hurts so much," she whined, feigning a pout and lowering her head dramatically. "Look, look at this wound. You’ve hurt me so terribly." She sniffed, glancing up at him with an exaggerated look of betrayal.
Ray’s eyes widened in shock at first, but then realization dawned on him. "You little—" He cut himself off with a grin, his exasperation quickly turning into playful retaliation. "You’re faking it, aren’t you?" Without warning, he reached out and gave her a gentle, teasing smack on her arm.
Esme, quick to play along, gasped in faux agony. "Ouch! Ouch!" she cried, putting a hand to her forehead like an actress in a tragic play. "Ray, why are you hitting me like this? It hurts so much! My poor head!" She let out a melodramatic groan, wincing and cradling her arm as if he’d just wounded her beyond repair.
Ray’s face went from guilt to utter disbelief as he realized she was milking it for all it was worth. "Oh really? You’re going to act like that now?" His brows arched as he leaned forward, his hands on his hips. "After I just apologized, here you go, making a whole scene out of it," he said with a smirk.
Esme wasn’t done yet, though. "Well, you know, I was just standing here, minding my own business, and then bam! My husband hits me with a pillow and a vase. And now, I can’t even complain about my own injuries!" She clutched her chest, as if the scandal of it all was too much for her. "Oh, the injustice of it all. Who will hear my cries?" she said, her eyes gleaming with mischief.
Ray groaned, but he couldn’t hide the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Alright, that’s it," he said, reaching for her ear playfully. He gave it a gentle tug, but enough to make her squeal with laughter.
"Ouch, ouch!" she yelped, laughing even as she pretended to be in terrible pain. "Okay, okay, I’ll admit it!" She put her hands up in surrender, giggling. "I was the one who, uh, accidentally hurt myself," she confessed, batting her eyelashes with an innocent look that fooled absolutely no one.
Ray let go of her ear, shaking his head with mock sternness. "You are unbelievable, Esme." He couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped him as he watched her cradling her "wounded" arm, still smiling up at him.
"Yes, yes, I am," Esme replied with a cheeky smile. "But isn’t that why you love me?"
Ray’s face flushed a deep shade of pink at Esme’s words, but he stayed silent, looking away as if trying to hide his reaction. From that day onward, something shifted in the rhythm of their home, a subtle but warm change that spoke volumes even in its quietness.
Esme began returning home earlier from work, carving out time for routines that had become almost sacred to her. The first thing she did upon arriving was to take a long, hot bath. She didn’t want to bring any trace of the city grime, the stale scent of cigarettes, or the mechanical residue from her workday into their shared space. She was meticulous about washing it all away, scrubbing off any lingering scent that might be harmful or unclean. To Esme, this was more than just hygiene—it was an act of care for Ray and their unborn child.
Through quiet conversations with Ryan, Esme learned more about the child Ray carried. The baby was both strong and fragile in a way she hadn’t anticipated. Spirit-bearer pregnancies, she learned, were rare and often fraught with risk. Many children conceived between spirit-bearers didn’t make it to five months. But once that milestone was reached, the chances of survival grew significantly. It made every moment, every little precaution, feel that much more important.
As her daily rituals continued, Esme noticed a peculiar thing: Ray had developed a strong aversion to food prepared by their cook. No matter how many different cooks she hired, none seemed to satisfy Ray’s newfound, sometimes finicky appetite. It was only when Esme began cooking herself that Ray started to enjoy his meals again. A warm, comforting feeling filled her heart each time Ray cleared his plate, sometimes murmuring contentedly as if the child was expressing approval. "Mother," she’d imagine the little voice saying, "you really know how to make food that feels like home."
So, Esme adjusted her routine. Each evening after her bath, she went to the kitchen, preparing a meal with care and love. She started waking up in the stillness of early morning, around 3 a.m., quietly chopping vegetables, kneading dough, and simmering ingredients while the world outside still slept. She prepared snacks and breakfast so Ray and the others would wake to the smell of a home-cooked meal. She wanted Ray to feel cared for, cherished, and most importantly, comfortable in this delicate stage of their lives.
But it wasn’t just food. Ray had been struggling with aching, heavy legs ever since the pregnancy began. No matter how he positioned himself, a strange tightness would creep into his calves, often waking him with uncomfortable cramps in the middle of the night. Without hesitation, Esme added another ritual to her day.
