Chapter 12
Backpacks on. Lunchboxes filled with string doritos, banana, cookies, and a note that said, “Do your best. Love, uh, me.”
I kissed them both on the forehead, shocked at how natural it was starting to feel.
Me, the badass of all badasses. Damn!
Even if my legs were jelly, my hair was frizzing, and my back felt like it’d been stomped by horses.
“Okay girls, time for school. I love you. Don’t poop on anything that isn’t a toilet.”
Maya rolled her eyes. “That’s not how normal moms talk.”
I opened the front door and watched them walk out toward the bus stop.
Somehow, the sun felt a little warmer.
Then Jaya sneezed directly into my mouth and laughed maniacally.
After getting Maya and Aliya out the door and praying to whatever gods watched over rogue billionaires stuck in mom bodies, I sagged onto the nearest chair with Jaya balanced on my lap like a warm bowling ball.
Her chubby little hands smacked my cheeks like I was some sort of bongo drum.
"Keep it together, Leon. You’ve handled million-dollar mergers. You are a warrior. You are the most feared assassin. You can handle a baby."
Nope.
Her nose was running, her diaper smelled like nuclear fallout, and she kept babbling nonsense like she knew my weakness. Then she threw up on my chest.
“This is fine,” I muttered, voice hollow, eyes empty.
I needed help. Not just help—professionals.
So I cleaned myself the best I could, propped Jaya into a sling that barely fit over these gloriously maternal mammaries, and waddled to Catherine’s crusty oatmeal phone. After three different cleaning apps failed to load, I gave up and messaged Jhing-Jhing, the neighbor, who knew everyone and their grandmothers.
Leon (as Catherine): “Do you know a cleaner? Urgent. Like… life or death.”
Jhing-Jhing: “OMG beshy why? U expecting some1? Date? 😏”
Leon: “No. Mold. Children. Floor poop. Send help.”
Within ten minutes she responded with, “Rosita and Sons Cleaning Services incoming. Don’t forget to offer snacks. They're allergic to attitude.”
When the cleaners arrived—two older women, a teenage boy, and a mop that looked possessed—I nearly cried. I paid them triple. Rosita looked me up and down, then at the baby chewing her own sock.
“Oh hija. You look like a broken piñata.”
I nearly hugged her.
They got to work, diving into this biohazard of a house like warriors of cleanliness. Within fice hour, the living room had visible floor, the kitchen smelled like bleach instead of despair, and even the toilet sparkled.
I sat with Jaya, who was now licking the TV remote.
“We are reborn,” I whispered.
She burped in agreement.
Next up: food.
With Maya and Aliya in school and the house no longer resembling a warzone, I dressed Jaya in a fluffy pink jacket and slipped on a blue hoodie over my unwashed hair. I looked like a tired influencer who gave up halfway through a makeup tutorial.
“Let’s go get food, tiny tyrant.”
The walk to the grocery store felt like crossing a desert. Everything ached. My knees, my hips, my soul. I waddled past mirrored glass and caught my reflection—massive, puffy, and frizzy-haired.
Inside the store, I grabbed a cart and started filling it like a mom possessed.
Diapers, baby wipes, milk formula because there was no way I'm going to nurse her again. My pride couldn't handle another tugging and pulling.
Baby food. Fruit that looked healthy. Frozen pizza and pasta.
Snacks I didn’t even recognize. Cleaning wipes, peanut butter and more chips
Two gallons of milk, boxes of cereals, pancakes, slices of bread.
Jaya started crying mid-aisle. Loud, public, soul-piercing wails.
People stared. My back was sweating. My boobs jiggled with every panicked breath. The cart was too full. The baby was too loud. I was a former billionaire who used to buy $1000 steaks flown in from Kyoto—and now I was chasing a pacifier across the floor like a raccoon.
“It’s okay, sweetheart,” I cooed, trying to remember how human mothers sounded.
“You want the apple sauce? Or should I give you my soul? Either works.”
A kind older lady helped me pick up the dropped bottle, and gave me that knowing mom-to-mom look.
“First time out alone with the baby?” she smiled.
I nodded mutely, cheeks burning. Inside, I was screaming.
Leon Darrow, real estate tycoon, humbled by a tiny human and a sticky grocery cart.
After somehow surviving the checkout lane without collapsing or committing a crime, I loaded everything into a borrowed stroller that squeaked with each step home.
By the time we got back, the cleaners were gone, the floor smelled like lemon and dignity, and I could finally sit down. I warmed up some baby food, scooped Jaya into my lap, and spoon-fed her while she occasionally swatted my hand away like a diva.
Her wide dark eyes stared at me, like she was memorizing my face.
“You're a handful, kid,” I said. “But you're kind of… perfect.”
She giggled with food dribbling from her mouth.
And for the first time since waking up in this body, something shifted in me. I didn’t feel like a stranger in Catherine’s skin. I felt like someone who had a purpose—even if it came with saggy underwear and back rolls.