Chapter 2Back to Eighteen, I Met My Teenage Son Instead of My Ex

Ryder slept through the entire math class. When the bell rang, he suddenly clutched his stomach, his face pale and strained.

A sudden wave of maternal instinct washed over me. I leaned closer. "What's wrong? Are you sick?"

He shot me a sideways glance and spat out a single word: "Beat it."

So rude. How on earth had his father raised him?

My hand moved faster than my brain. Before I could stop myself, I smacked the back of his head. A sharp smack echoed through the room.

The entire classroom fell dead silent. Every eye was pinned on us. My hand hovered in the air, awkward and frozen.

I forced myself to make up a ridiculous excuse. "Ryder, your hair is too bright. It's distracting me from my studying."

Ryder's knuckles turned white. His jaw clenched so hard his face looked rigid, anger burning in his dark eyes. Just as he was about to explode, the warning bell saved me.

The homeroom teacher walked in, catching him with his hand half-raised. "Ryder, do you want me to call your father in for another meeting?"

He swallowed his rage, forcing himself to back down. He slumped onto his desk, radiating pure fury.

The student behind me tapped my shoulder, his glasses practically gleaming with excitement. "No way. You actually made Ryder back down."

I managed a weak smile. Ryder wasn't the type to let things slide. Before he put his hand down, he had leaned in and hissed, "Wait until school ends."

Fine, I would wait. But when the final bell rang, Ryder bolted out the door. He was in such a rush that he left his jacket behind.

I waited and waited until the classroom emptied completely and the security guard started his rounds. Finally, I decided to leave.

I picked up my backpack, but just as I turned to go, the jacket left on his desk began to vibrate. He had forgotten his phone, too. What was this kid in such a hurry for?

I pulled the phone out of his pocket. The screen lit up, displaying a single name: John.

I didn't want to answer it, but the calls kept coming back-to-back. At the very last second, I swiped to answer.

"Where are you?" John's deep voice came through the receiver, heavy and commanding.

"Mr..." I cleared my throat, unable to bring myself to call him by his name. It took a long, burning moment before I managed to find my voice. "Hello, sir. I'm Ryder's..." Before I could finish, he cut me off.

"Tell him to get home. Now." The line went dead. I stood frozen, staring at the screen.

John, are you really still this impatient?

While I was trying to figure out how to return the phone, a text message popped up on the lock screen.

"Hey Ryder, the cake is ready. Come pay for it."

"Ryder, where are you?" An address followed.

I tried to unlock the phone. I tried his birthday. Incorrect. I tried his father's birthday. Incorrect. I tried the dog's birthday. Still wrong.

On a strange whim, I entered my own birthday. The phone unlocked.

A sudden tightness gripped my throat, and my eyes stung with tears. Eighteen years. Even after all this time, someone still remembered me.

I wiped my eyes and headed toward the address.

When I arrived, Ryder and a group of his friends were being ushered out by a furious bakery owner.

The owner pushed him, looking completely disgusted. "Get out of here, you little freeloaders! Kids these days will lie about anything. If you don't have the money, just say so. Don't give me that 'I forgot my phone' crap!"

Seeing their leader insulted, a few of his colorful-haired friends reached for wooden bats, ready to start a fight.

I rushed forward, grabbing Ryder's arm before things could escalate. "Don't fight. I brought your phone."

Ryder stared at me with a complicated expression. Without a word, he took the phone and paid the bill.

The owner's demeanor shifted instantly. He muttered a quick apology and quickly packed the cake.

I stood off to the side, catching the whispered conversations of his friends outside.

"Is that his new girl?"

"Doubt it. He was out with someone else last week."

"They probably broke up. He never keeps a girl for more than a week anyway."

I frowned. Who taught him to be so reckless with people's feelings?

I looked up to see Ryder sitting quietly at a table, meticulously writing on a small card. I assumed he was writing a note for some girl.

But as I stepped closer, my heart stopped.

Happy Birthday, Dad. The words were written, crossed out, and written again, the ink bleeding into the paper.

He didn't know what to say. In the end, he left only a simple line: Wishing you great success, Boss.

A mix of frustration and sorrow washed over me. This boy wasn't nearly as rebellious as he pretended to be. He remembered his father's birthday. He remembered that John hated sweets; the cake had almost no frosting, customized to the lowest sweetness level. He was far more sensitive and caring than I had ever imagined.

Before we left, I looked at him and said softly, "Your dad is waiting for you at home to have dinner." John hated being alone, especially on his birthday. "Go home and keep him company."

Ryder didn't answer. He turned to leave, but then paused, looking back at me. His voice was as soft as a breeze. "Thanks."