Chapter 38 038
RYAN
If someone were to ask me about Emily, I’d probably tell them about our prom night.
Not because it was perfect—it wasn’t—but because it was us before life got heavy. Before responsibility crept in and settled between us like a third presence we never invited.
She wore a deep blue dress that night, one she’d agonized over for days, asking me at least five times if it was “too much.” It wasn’t. The color made her eyes look like the ocean at dusk, that quiet moment when the light softens and everything feels possible.
She’d stood in front of me, smoothing the fabric over her hips, nervous in a way she tried to hide. Emily always tried to hide her nerves. Tried to be brave even when she didn’t feel it.
I remember stepping on her foot during the slow dance. Not a gentle misstep—full weight, clumsy and uncoordinated. She gasped, nearly lost her balance, and then laughed. I remember thinking then that if I could make her laugh like that for the rest of my life, I’d be doing something right.
Later, under the string lights in the school parking lot, with crickets chirping and music thumping faintly from inside, I asked her to be my girlfriend. I’d rehearsed it a hundred times in my head. Thought I’d say something smooth. Meaningful. Instead, it came out awkward and rushed, like I was afraid the moment would slip away if I didn’t grab it.
She whispered “yes.”
So quietly I almost missed it. Like it was the easiest answer she’d ever given. Like she’d been waiting for the question her whole life.
Or maybe I’d tell them about our first anniversary.
We didn’t have money then. Not for hotels or dinners or anything that required reservations. So we drove to the beach at midnight with a blanket we’d stolen from my mom’s linen closet, a bottle of cheap wine that tasted like regret, and a bag of convenience-store snacks. Chips. Candy bars. Stuff that stuck to your teeth.
We spread everything out on the sand and listened to the waves crash in the dark. The world felt enormous and small at the same time.
We talked about the house we’d buy someday. The kids we’d have. The life we were so sure we were building toward. Big dreams spoken softly, like if we said them too loud they might disappear.
She fell asleep with her head on my chest, hair tickling my chin, breathing slow and steady. I stayed awake long after, watching the rise and fall of her chest, memorizing it. Thinking about how lucky I was. How impossible it felt that someone like her had chosen someone like me.
Or I’d tell them how much she loved my family. Especially my mother.
Emily had no family of her own. No parents. No siblings. Just a quiet ache she never talked about, but I felt it every time holidays rolled around and she went a little still. So she poured all that love into mine.
Helped Mom in the kitchen on Thanksgiving. Listened to Dad’s fishing stories like they were sacred texts. Called them “Mom” and “Dad” before I ever had the courage to ask her to.
She made my family feel like hers. And they loved her for it.
Mom used to say Emily was the daughter she never had. I used to think that was the sweetest thing anyone had ever said.
I loved her then.
I still love her now.
That’s why, most times, I find it hard to believe Emily could have liked another man.
We were together for so long. Knew each other’s habits, moods, silences. I wanted to spoil her. Love her. Take care of her. But I was always busy. Busy with work. With contracts. With trying to prove I could give her the life she deserved.
Or maybe we just grew out of love.
Maybe love isn’t enough when life gets in the way.
“I’m ready, Daddy.”
Zara’s voice pulled me out of the memory like a hand on my arm. I blinked and looked down at her.
She stood in the hospital doorway in her little pink sneakers and the hoodie I’d bought her last week, backpack slung over one shoulder like she was headed on an adventure instead of being discharged from cardiac surgery.
Her curls were still a little wild from the hospital bed, but her smile was bright—brighter than it had been in days.
I crouched to her level, heart tightening. “Okay, princess. Let’s go home.”
Five days.
Five days since she fainted. Four days since the surgery. Five days of monitors, nurses, antiseptic smells, and quiet hallways that never quite slept. Five days of Emily sitting stiff in plastic chairs, dark circles under her eyes, pretending she wasn’t terrified.
The doctors said Zara could go home today. Her heart was healing. She was healing.
I looked up at Emily. She was gathering the last of Zara’s things—mr bear, coloring book, the little blanket she insisted on sleeping with. She moved slowly, like each motion cost her something she didn’t have much of left.
“Your place or mine?” I asked.
She shrugged, eyes skirting past mine. “My place.”
I nodded. “Okay.”
I told them to head toward the car. “I’ll sign the discharge papers and be right there.”
Emily took Zara’s hand and walked ahead. I watched them go—my daughter skipping despite instructions to take it easy, Emily holding her like she was fragile glass.
I signed the paperwork. Listened to aftercare instructions I already knew by heart. Then jogged back to the car.
Zara was already buckled in, humming happily, asking if we could get ice cream. Emily sat in the passenger seat, staring out the window like she was somewhere else entirely.
I got in and started the engine.
The drive was quiet except for Zara’s humming. I kept glancing at Emily. She looked exhausted. Hair in a messy bun. Shoulders tense. I wanted to reach over and squeeze her hand. Remind her she wasn’t alone.
I didn’t.
When we pulled up to her house, I parked and got out first. Helped Zara down. Then jogged back to the trunk.
I’d hidden it there since yesterday.
The Barbie dream house. Pink and purple. Three stories. Tiny furniture. Everything a four-year-old could dream of. Zara’s birthday had been two days ago. Surgery had swallowed the day whole.
I hadn’t forgotten.
I carried it inside, setting it just outside the living room doorway.
“Zara!” I called.
She ran over, eyes wide. Emily turned too, curiosity flickering across her tired face.
I stepped aside and brought the dollhouse into view.
“Happy birthday, princess.”
Zara screamed. High and delighted. She threw her arms around my legs, then hugged the dollhouse like it was alive.
“Thank you, Daddy!”
I laughed and scooped her up. Kissed her cheek. “Anything for you.”
Emily stood behind us, eyes moving from the dollhouse to me to Zara. A small, tired smile curved her lips.
“Thank you,” she said quietly.
Zara wriggled down and started exploring immediately, narrating where Princess Lila and mr bear would sleep.
I looked at Emily again.
She watched Zara, but her eyes flicked to me. Soft. Uncertain. Beautiful.
I wanted to say something.
But Zara beat me to it.
She looked up at me, eyes shining. “Will you sleep with me tonight to celebrate my birthday?”