Chapter 27 027
EMILY
“Daddy has a new girlfriend.”
Zara said it the moment she climbed into the back seat, her voice light and casual, like she was commenting on the weather. Like she was telling me we might need umbrellas later. Like she hadn’t just reached into my chest and tilted my entire world off balance.
I froze with my hand wrapped around the seatbelt.
The school pickup line crawled forward inch by inch. Parents leaned out of car windows, calling out names. Children laughed, backpacks bouncing against their shoulders as they waved goodbye to teachers who already looked exhausted. The afternoon sun slanted through the windshield, warm and golden, dust motes floating lazily in the light.
None of it reached me.
I turned slowly to look at her, afraid that if I moved too fast, something inside me might shatter.
Zara was already buckling herself in, tongue poking out slightly as she concentrated, her curls tumbling into her eyes. Her little legs swung back and forth, sneakers tapping lightly against the seat. She looked… fine. Happy. Completely unbothered.
Completely unaware of the bomb she’d just dropped.
I swallowed hard and forced my voice into something calm. The kind of voice mothers use when their hearts are racing but their children don’t need to know that.
“What kind of woman is your father dating, sweet girl?”
Zara shrugged, tugging on the straps of her backpack like the question barely required thought. “A pretty lady. She helped me with my doll.”
Something twisted sharply in my stomach, like a nerve had been pulled too far. I clicked my seatbelt into place and eased the car forward when the line moved, my hands tightening on the steering wheel until my knuckles went pale.
“Did he bring her home?” I asked, careful—so careful—not to let anything slip into my tone.
Zara nodded enthusiastically. “Yes. She said my dress was cute.”
The words settled heavy and wrong in my chest.
I sucked in a deep breath through my nose and stared straight ahead, blinking fast. For a moment, the road blurred, the world tilting slightly before snapping back into focus.
“Okay then,” I said carefully, measuring every syllable. “I’ll need to have a talk with your dad.”
Zara didn’t notice anything wrong and instead started singing along to a song she barely knew the words to. Her feet kicked against the back of my seat in time with the music. She was bright. Loud. Whole.
I kept glancing at her in the rearview mirror.
She looked content.
She looked loved.
That should have made me feel relieved.
It didn’t.
By the time we pulled into the driveway, my chest felt tight, like I hadn’t taken a full breath in hours. I helped Zara out of the car, listened to her chatter about her day—about paint, and stickers, and a girl who’d taken her crayons—nodded at the right moments, and smiled when she smiled.
I kissed the top of her head and watched her disappear into her room to play.
The second she was gone, I pulled my phone from my pocket.
My fingers hovered over the screen for half a second before I typed.
“Please come over after work. Urgent.”
The reply came almost immediately.
“Is Zara okay?”
“Yes. But I still need to see you urgently.”
After that, I paced the living room like a caged animal, walking the same path from couch to window and back again until my legs felt restless and my thoughts tangled. I replayed Zara’s words over and over in my head, each repetition cutting a little deeper.
A pretty lady.
She helped me with my doll.
Forty minutes later, headlights swept across the front of the house.
I opened the door before Ryan could knock.
He stood there in his work shirt, sleeves rolled up to his forearms, tie loosened, and hair slightly messy like he’d run a hand through it one too many times. Concern lined his face immediately, his eyes searching mine like he was bracing for bad news.
I didn’t give myself time to hesitate.
“I don’t want your girlfriends around my daughter.”
The words came out sharp and raw, stripped of any politeness.
Ryan blinked. “What?”
“Yes,” I said, my heart pounding so hard I could hear it. “I don’t want your new girlfriends around my daughter.”
He stared at me for a long second, clearly trying to catch up. Then he let out a soft laugh—surprised, almost disbelieving—and stepped inside, closing the door behind him.
“Wow,” he said, shaking his head slightly. “That’s why you sent the text? That’s what’s urgent?”
I inhaled deeply, steadying myself. “Come on, Ry. It’s not fair on my daughter. I’ve not even explained to her why we’re not together, and now you’re introducing a new woman into her life like it’s nothing.”
His smile faded slowly. He took a breath and really looked at me this time, like he was finally seeing past my words to what was underneath them.
“Our daughter, Em,” he said quietly. “Zara is our daughter. And I want you to always remember that.”
Before I could respond, he stepped closer. Close enough that I could feel his presence, the familiar warmth of him, the way the air seemed to shift when he was near. He lifted his hands slowly, deliberately, like he was giving me time to pull away.
I didn’t.
He cupped my cheeks.
His thumbs brushed my skin, gentle and grounding, like he was reminding me that I was here. That this was real. I forgot how to breathe.
“And the girl works with me,” he continued calmly. “We had to finish something together at home. That’s all it was. Nothing else.”
The tension in my chest loosened just a fraction, enough for me to inhale properly.
I nodded, my throat tight. “Thank you.”
He nodded back, but his hands didn’t drop immediately. They stayed there, warm and familiar, resting against my face for a heartbeat longer than necessary.
Then his gaze dropped.
To my lips.
It lingered.
Too long.
The air between us changed—thickened, charged with something dangerous and familiar. My pulse roared in my ears. I could smell his cologne, cedar and clean cotton. The scent that used to live in my clothes, my sheets, my skin.
My body remembered him even when my heart tried not to.
He broke the gaze first, jaw tightening slightly.
“I have to go,” he said, his voice rougher than before.
I nodded too quickly. “Yeah. Yeah, you have to.”
He stepped back, creating space I hadn’t realized I was holding onto, and walked toward the door.
Then he paused.
His hand rested on the knob as he looked back at me, something unreadable in his eyes—something unfinished.
“Goodnight, Em.”
“Goodnight, Ryan.”
The door closed softly behind him.
I stood there in the hallway long after the sound faded, heart racing, cheeks warm where his thumbs had been, knowing with painful clarity that this—this—was going to be far more complicated than either of us wanted to admit.