My Mr. Delulu

Chapter 8 – Read. Delete. Smile.

The morning sunlight peeked through the curtains, warm and gentle against my skin. I sat on the edge of our bed, hair still a mess from sleep, cradling my second mug of tablea choco like it was the only thing anchoring me to Earth.

Then my phone buzzed.

Zander Cruz.

One unread message.

I stared at the name for a second longer than I meant to. Not because I missed him—God, no. But because some names carry echoes, not feelings.

Curiosity got the better of me.

“Hey. Was thinking about you. Hope you’re well.”

Short. Vague. Just enough emotional bait to make someone bite.

I didn’t.

Instead, I read it again, let the silence stretch between my phone and the kitchen clock, then tapped Delete without so much as a blink.

Typical, I thought, smirking into my mug. Still thinks he’s the plot twist.

A quiet laugh bubbled in my chest, and I sipped my choco with the kind of satisfaction that comes from choosing the high road—and knowing it leads home.

“Morning,” Eitan’s voice cut through the silence, low and warm.

I turned to find him in a plain white tee, holding Kent in one arm and rubbing his sleepy eyes with the other.

“Someone woke up earlier than usual,” he said, walking over.

“Me or him?”

“Both,” he chuckled, leaning down to kiss my forehead.

I brushed my hand over Kent’s curls. “Did you sleep okay?”

He nodded sleepily, curling into his dad’s shoulder.

Eitan glanced at my phone. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” I replied, placing it face-down on the nightstand. “Just deleted a ghost.”

His brow quirked. “Zander?”

“Mm-hmm,” I hummed, standing to stretch. “He sent a message.”

“You okay?”

I met his eyes and smiled. “I’m better than okay.”

He didn't press. He just smiled back and handed Kent to me. "Well, mommy better get ready. We're still pushing through with your OB appointment, right?"

"Yup. Two p.m. Don’t be late, ha."

Eitan gave me a mock salute. “I’m WFH today, remember? I'll be in the study if you need anything.”

With the soft rhythm of morning unfolding—pajamas, cartoons in the background, the smell of pan de sal heating up in the oven—I felt it again. That quiet kind of joy that doesn’t scream or dance. It just is.

And whatever ghosts the past tried to send me…

They had no place here.

Later that afternoon…

The OB clinic smelled faintly of lavender, the kind that always made me feel a little more at ease. I was lying on the recliner, my fingers interlocked with Eitan’s. The monitor beeped softly, and the baby’s heartbeat echoed across the room like a secret being shared.

Dr. Yna smiled. “Ready to find out?”

Eitan looked at me, eyes sparkling. “Are we ready?”

I nodded. “Let’s meet our little one.”

A few seconds passed. Then she said it.

“It’s a boy.”

Eitan laughed — a full, surprised, joyful laugh.

“A boy?” he repeated.

“A baby brother for Kent,” I said, voice soft but beaming. “We’re really outnumbered now.”

Eitan leaned over and kissed my forehead. “I don’t mind. I’ve got the best team.”

That evening.

Dinner was home-cooked chaos, just the way Kent liked it. He was already in his PJs — dinosaur print, naturally — and bouncing on his chair as we set the table.

“You’re gonna be a kuya,” I said, placing a scoop of rice onto his plate.

His eyes widened. “For real?”

“For real,” Eitan said. “The doctor saw him today on the screen.”

Kent gasped. “Was he tiny?”

I smiled. “Tiny and squirmy.”

Kent looked proud — like we’d just given him a promotion. “Can I help name him?”

“Of course,” I said.

“What about… Thunderstrike?”

Eitan snorted into his glass. “Maybe something with less lightning.”

“I like Sean,” I offered gently, testing the sound of it.

Kent tilted his head. “Hmm. Okay. But I still like Thunderstrike.”

“We’ll keep it on the list,” I laughed.

Later that night, when Kent had finally fallen asleep between his dinosaur plushies, I lay back on the couch and opened my phone.

One message.

Zander.

“I saw you.”

I stared at it for a heartbeat. Then tapped it open.

Read.

Deleted.

And that was it.

No drama. No flutter. Not even a flicker of nostalgia.

Just the quiet satisfaction of knowing I’ve moved on — really, fully, finally.

With my husband.

With Kent.

With our second baby boy growing stronger every day.

This was the life I chose.

And I wouldn’t trade it for anything.