Chapter 37 037
EMILY
“What the hell do you mean by that, Cecilia?”
The words ripped out of me before I could stop them. Sharp and unfiltered. Loud enough that a nurse glanced our way from down the corridor. I didn’t care. My hands were shaking, my chest tight, my whole body buzzing with something ugly and electric.
I stared at her, really stared, glaring so hard I thought my eyes might burn holes through her perfectly tailored blouse. Through her immaculate posture. The way she stood there like she owned the air we were breathing.
Cecilia glared right back.
She didn’t even blink.
She took one slow step closer, invading my space, forcing me to inhale her perfume—something expensive, floral, and cloying. The kind of scent that lingered long after the person wearing it was gone. Her voice dropped low, controlled, and venomous.
“I don’t want my granddaughter around a careless woman like you.”
Careless.
The word landed hard, knocking the air from my lungs. For a split second, everything went quiet. The beeping machines, the distant voices, even my own thoughts faded out, replaced by that single word echoing over and over in my head.
Careless.
I opened my mouth to unleash everything—to scream, to defend myself, to tear her apart piece by piece—but before a single sound came out, Ryan’s hand wrapped around my arm.
Gentle, firm, and unyielding.
He pulled me back just enough to put himself between us. Not dramatically. Not aggressively. Just instinct. Like his body moved before his brain had time to catch up.
“Mom,” he said, his voice tight, edged with warning. “What the hell are you talking about?”
Cecilia straightened, lifting her chin as if she’d been challenged. Her eyes flicked between us like we were exhibits she was presenting to a jury.
“How did she not notice her daughter had a hole in her heart until you came around, son?” she asked calmly. Too calmly. “You found out because you care about your daughter. That’s how a good parent should be.”
Something in me fractured.
It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t dramatic. It was internal, like a bone splintering under pressure.
I scoffed, the sound sharp and brittle as it bounced off the hallway walls. “You are daft, Cecilia.”
Ryan’s grip tightened. “Hey—”
I yanked my arm free.
I stepped forward before I could think better of it, rage flooding through me, burning away every ounce of restraint I had left.
“You try to come into my life and take my daughter away from me?” I said, my voice shaking, not with fear but fury. “You must be foolish.”
My hands trembled at my sides. My heart was pounding so hard it hurt. Every muscle in my body felt coiled tight, like I was one wrong word away from completely losing it.
I spun toward Ryan, desperation bleeding into my anger.
“Please,” I said. “It’s been a long day. Take your parents away from here.”
For a brief second, something flickered in Cecilia’s eyes. Not compassion. Not understanding. Something colder.
She scoffed. “You cheat.”
The word hit me like a punch to the chest.
It stole my breath. My vision blurred. Heat rushed to my face as my stomach dropped like I was free-falling.
Before I could react—before I could say something I couldn’t take back—her husband finally stepped in.
Quiet. Gray-haired. Always standing half a step behind her, like a man who’d spent decades smoothing over her sharp edges.
“Come on, Cece,” he said softly. “Let’s go.”
He gave me a look—apologetic, weary—that told me he knew exactly how wrong this was. Then he took her arm and gently but firmly guided her away.
She resisted the entire time, her voice rising and falling as they moved down the hall.
“This is ridiculous—”
“She’s unstable—”
“You can’t be serious—”
Her words echoed long after they disappeared around the corner.
I stood there, staring at the empty space they’d left behind, my chest heaving as I tried to breathe through the anger, the humiliation, and the fear.
The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead. Somewhere, a machine beeped steadily. Life went on, uncaring.
Then I turned to Ryan.
“This is what you’ve been discussing with your parents?” I asked quietly. “Having full custody of my daughter?”
He shook his head immediately. “Of course not.”
I nodded, but it felt hollow. Like my body was going through the motions without my heart involved. “As if I believe you.”
He flinched.
He dragged a hand through his hair, frustration radiating off him. “Don’t believe me then, Em. I’m trying.”
His voice cracked, just slightly.
“I’m trying to make things work between us. I’m trying to see if we can at least be cordial. But you keep pulling back.”
He paused, swallowing hard.
“We all know I should be the angry one,” he continued, voice low and raw. “But I keep suppressing my emotions. I keep swallowing everything because I don’t want to explode. I keep—”
He stopped.
Just stopped.
He looked at me like he was seeing me for the first time in years.
And I couldn’t meet his gaze.
I stared down at the floor, the white tiles blurring as tears burned behind my eyes. My shoulders sagged under the weight of everything I’d been carrying—guilt, fear, regret, love that never really died.
“I’m sorry, Ry,” I whispered. “I’m so sorry.”
He didn’t move.
Didn’t reach for me. Didn’t touch me.
The silence stretched between us, heavy and suffocating. When I finally lifted my head, his expression was different.
Tired.
Guarded.
“Let’s… let’s just try to be friends, okay?” he said quietly.
The word cut deep.
Friends.
I nodded because I didn’t trust myself to do anything else. My throat was too tight to speak at first. Then I forced the words out.
“Sure. Let’s be friends.”
He gave a small, tired nod. “Let’s go in?”
I nodded again. “Go ahead. I’ll meet you.”
He hesitated, studying my face like he wanted to say more. Like he might reach for me.
But he didn’t.
He turned and walked back into Zara’s room.
I stayed where I was.
Alone in the hallway.
My heart felt like it was cracking open—slowly, painfully, piece by piece.
Friends.
That was what he wanted now.