Chapter 39 039
EMILY
Ryan went red immediately.
Not a subtle flush. Not a polite hint of color. A full, honest-to-God blush that bloomed across his cheeks and crept up his neck like it had a mind of its own. The tips of his ears burned pink, and I knew—knew—that if Zara weren’t standing right there, he’d already be halfway to pretending he hadn’t heard her question at all.
He opened his mouth.
Closed it.
Opened it again.
“Uh… well…” came out, tangled and useless, followed by that familiar gesture—his hand rubbing the back of his neck, fingers pressing into skin like he was trying to ground himself. Ryan had always done that when he was caught off guard. When he didn’t have a plan. When something mattered more than he’d expected.
Zara noticed. Of course she did.
My daughter turned those big blue eyes on him, widening them just enough to be devastating. Lower lip poked out into a tiny pout. Eyelashes fluttered—slow, deliberate, practiced. It was the same look she used on me when she wanted extra cookies or five more minutes before bedtime.
Pure. Calculated. Weaponized innocence.
Ryan never stood a chance.
“We’ll have to ask your mom if I can sleep over, my darling,” he said gently, already halfway defeated, voice soft like he was bracing for impact.
Zara didn’t even hesitate. She spun toward me so fast her curls bounced wildly around her face. “Why can’t Daddy sleep here?” she asked, then tilted her head, confusion sharpening into something more dangerous. “Are you not Mummy and Daddy again?”
Heat rushed through me so fast it made me dizzy.
My chest tightened. My face burned. The word again echoed like a bell struck too hard. Too loud.
“Urm…” I cleared my throat, suddenly acutely aware of Ryan’s presence, of his eyes on me, of the fragile line we were walking without ever naming it. “Darling, of course he can sleep here.”
The words came out softer than I intended. Too easy.
Ryan’s head snapped toward me. His eyes searched my face—not accusing, not demanding. Careful. Gentle. Like he was afraid one wrong move would make me retreat.
“Are you sure?” he asked quietly.
I nodded. Too quickly. Too eagerly. “Yes. I’m sure.”
Zara beamed.
The kind of smile that erased logic and boundaries and every careful promise I’d made to myself. She launched herself at me, arms wrapping tight around my waist, squeezing like she was afraid I might change my mind if she let go.
“Thank you, Mummy!”
I hugged her back, pressing my cheek into her curls, breathing her in. Hospital shampoo. Hospital cookies. Something unmistakably home. My heart felt too full and too fragile all at once, like it might crack under its own weight.
“What about we bake you a cake, huh?” I said, forcing brightness into my voice.
Her head popped up instantly. “Yes!”
“And maybe,” I added, heart racing now for a different reason, “we can call Auntie Morgan too.”
She nodded so hard her curls flew everywhere. “And Daddy’s friend!”
I laughed despite myself. “Okay, okay. Auntie Morgan and Daddy’s friend.”
I pulled out my phone, fingers moving on autopilot as Ryan stepped aside to call Aaron. The normalcy of it—planning a small celebration, making calls—felt surreal after days of hospital walls and whispered prayers.
Less than an hour later, my house was full.
Morgan arrived first.
She didn’t knock so much as burst in, arms overloaded with balloons that immediately bobbed into the ceiling, a giant teddy bear almost as tall as she was, and a white bakery box that smelled like vanilla and sugar and joy. She dropped everything on the couch without ceremony and scooped Zara into a hug so tight it made my little girl squeal.
“My brave birthday girl!” Morgan said, spinning her around like nothing bad had ever touched us.
Aaron showed up ten minutes later.
He stood awkwardly in the doorway, arms full, eyes wide as he took in the scene. Gift bags. Wrapping paper spilling out. A remote-control car. A doll with hair longer than Zara’s entire body. A tea set that looked delicate enough to belong in a museum.
I swallowed.
“That’s… a lot,” I said weakly.
He shrugged. “I panicked.”
Zara didn’t care.
She tore through the bags like a tiny hurricane, shrieking with delight at every new discovery. The giant teddy bear Morgan brought earned exactly one polite hug before being abandoned on the floor in favor of the dollhouse Ryan had given her earlier.
Morgan watched the teddy bear’s rejection with exaggerated offense. “I risked my life carrying that thing.”
I snorted as I moved into the kitchen to start dinner. “She’ll love it later.”
“Rude,” Morgan muttered, following me in. She leaned against the counter while I seasoned the chicken, arms crossed. “I don’t know why he is here, to be honest.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Who?”
She tilted her head toward the living room. “Him. So annoying.”
I laughed, stirring the marinade. “You know he’s absolutely amazing. He’s just trying to be the perfect godfather.”
I glanced into the living room without meaning to.
Ryan and Aaron were on the floor with Zara, heads bent close together as they assembled the remote-control car. Ryan was explaining the controls in that patient, focused voice he used when he truly cared. Aaron was pretending to be the villain car, making ridiculous engine noises and dramatic crashes that had Zara giggling uncontrollably.
Morgan followed my gaze.
Her pout softened. Ryan is good with her.”
“Yeah,” I said quietly. “He is.”
She bumped my shoulder with hers. “And you’re staring.”
“I’m not.”
“You are. And it’s cute.”
I rolled my eyes. “Shut up.”
But I was smiling.
For the first time in days—maybe weeks—I was smiling without forcing it. Without fear clawing at my ribs. And that scared me more than the hospital ever had.
Because smiling like this—smiling with hope in it—meant I was letting myself want things again.
And wanting things meant I could lose them.
Again.
I leaned against the counter and tossed the chicken in the marinade, letting the repetitive motion calm me. “Do you like Aaron?” I asked casually, eyes still on the bowl.
Morgan froze.
“What?” she said, too quickly.
I grinned and glanced at her. “Relax. I’m teasing. Mostly.”