Chapter 42 042
RYAN
“Please stay,” she said.
The words were so quiet they almost slipped past me. I had one hand on the doorknob, my body already angled toward leaving, my mind telling me this was the sensible thing to do. I froze anyway. My heart thudded once, hard enough that I felt it in my throat.
I turned slowly.
Emily stood a few steps behind me, half caught in the glow from the hallway light. Her arms were wrapped around herself like she needed the pressure just to stay standing. Her eyes were wide, uncertain, and almost startled, like she had surprised herself by saying it out loud.
She looked younger like that. Softer. Like the Emily I used to know before life took a wrecking ball to us.
For a second, I did not breathe.
I had not expected this. Not after everything. Not after the hospital. Not after Zara. Not after the careful distance she had kept between us since the truth came spilling out. Not after the promises she had made to herself and maybe to others that I did not even know about.
I let my hand fall away from the door.
I moved toward her, slowly, like a sudden movement might make her change her mind. One step. Then another. My voice came out low and steady, even though my chest felt tight. “Are you sure?”
She nodded. It was small, but there was something solid in it. “Yeah. Come on. You can sleep on the couch in my room. I’ll take the bed.”
Something warm spread through me, followed immediately by guilt for feeling it at all. I swallowed hard. “Thank you, Em.”
She shrugged, trying to make it seem casual. “It’s nothing.”
But it was not nothing. It was everything.
I followed her up the stairs. Each step felt heavier than the last, like my body knew this moment mattered even if my brain was still catching up. The house was quiet in that way that only comes late at night, when even the walls seem to be resting.
The hallway upstairs smelled like her. Vanilla candles. Clean laundry. That faint floral lotion she had used since we were teenagers. The second we stepped into her room, the scent wrapped around me fully. Warm. Familiar. So familiar it hurt.
Home.
I smiled without meaning to. “You still use vanilla.”
She laughed, a soft sound, and immediately busied herself straightening things that were already perfectly neat.
She fluffed a pillow, smoothed a blanket, and adjusted the curtain like it had personally offended her. “You will not believe this, but I hated the smell when I was pregnant. It made me throw up so badly.”
I stared at her. “That is not possible.”
She planted her hands on her hips and gave me a mock glare. “Your daughter did not make things easy for me. She was a lot. Even before she was born.”
I smiled, but my chest tightened. “I’m sorry.”
She shook her head. “You have to be. She took that from you.”
I scoffed. “As if. You were so stubborn back then when we were dating.”
She turned to me, eyebrow raised. “You big liar.”
I laughed, the sound coming easier than I expected. “Do you remember our three-month anniversary? That restaurant you insisted on going to?”
Her face immediately flushed. “It was not my fault the place was not presentable.”
“You complained the entire time,” I said. “You would not rest until you spoke to the manager.”
“And I was right,” she shot back. “The tables were sticky.”
I grinned. “We were really adventurous to even go there. That area was rough.”
She nodded, her expression softening. “I loved to explore. You just went with the flow.”
I sat on the edge of the bed. The mattress dipped under my weight. She hesitated for a second, then sat beside me. Close enough that our knees almost touched. Close enough that I could feel her warmth.
“Come on,” I said gently. “Tell me about Zara.”
Her whole face lit up as she leaned back against the headboard.
“Do you know her first word was ‘Mo’?” she asked, smiling. “Not mama. Not dada. Just ‘Mo.’ Morgan was on top of the world.”
I laughed, shaking my head. “Of course she was.”
“She adores her,” Emily said. “From the moment she could focus her eyes, she followed Morgan everywhere.”
She talked and talked, like she had been holding these stories in for years.
The first time Zara smiled, barely three weeks old, smiling right at her like she already knew her. The first time she walked, gripping the couch and wobbling like she might tip over at any second. The first time she tried solid food and ended up with mashed banana in her hair and on the walls. The first day of school, crying for five minutes and then running off to play like she had been there her whole life.
As she spoke, her eyes shone. Her voice softened. She smiled in that way that only parents do, full of pride and awe and love so big it spills over.
When she finished, she looked at me. “I know how much you would have loved those moments.”
I shifted closer, my shoulder brushing hers. “I still cherish the little moments I get now.”
She nodded, blinking fast. “I wish…” Her voice broke. “I am sorry for breaking us apart, Ry.”
Something inside me cracked.
I pulled her into my arms without thinking. She melted against me, her forehead pressing into my chest. The sobs came quietly at first, then harder, her shoulders shaking. I held her tighter, rubbing slow circles on her back, murmuring things I did not even realize I was saying. That we were okay. That I had her. That we would figure it out.
Eventually, her breathing evened out. She pulled back just enough to look up at me.
Our faces were close. Too close. I could see every tiny freckle, every familiar line. Her eyes flicked down to my mouth and back up again.
Then she leaned in.
The kiss was soft. Careful. Like she was testing something fragile.
The world did not end.
I kissed her back.
It deepened without effort, years of longing and regret and love pouring into that single moment. Her fingers slid into my hair. Mine found her waist, holding her like I was afraid she might disappear.
The kiss stole my breath. When we finally pulled apart, we were both breathing hard.
She rested her forehead against mine. “Ry…”
I brushed my thumb over her cheek. “Yeah?”
She did not answer.
She kissed me again.