Chapter 49 049
EMILY
“I thought you said nothing was going on between both of you.”
The words left my mouth sharp, brittle, already splintering even as they hung between us. I hated how much they sounded like a plea. Like I was asking for reassurance I already knew I would not get.
Ryan leaned against the counter, arms crossed loosely over his chest. He did not look guilty. He did not look apologetic. If anything, he looked bored. Like we were discussing something small and inconsequential. Like the weather.
He shrugged. Casual. Careless. “You also called her my girlfriend.”
The air left my lungs in a rush.
I scoffed, heat flooding up my neck, spreading across my cheeks, crawling down my spine. Embarrassment burned in my chest—hot, sharp, humiliating. The kind that made you want to disappear into the floor.
I had driven here with hope fluttering stupidly in my stomach, replaying last night over and over in my head. His voice. His touch. The way everything had felt soft and familiar and dangerously close to something more.
I had thought maybe we could talk.
Really talk.
Silly me.
“Well,” I said, my voice thinner than I wanted, “I was not wrong.” I swallowed hard. “I thought we could talk… but right now, I don’t want to hear anything you have to say.”
For half a second, something flickered across his face. Something like irritation. Or maybe relief.
He shrugged again. “Fine by me.”
And then he turned his back on me and walked up the stairs to his room.
Just like that.
I stood there, frozen, my mind scrambling to catch up with my body. The sound of his footsteps faded, each one landing like a quiet, deliberate dismissal. He did not look back. He did not hesitate. He did not care enough to argue.
The silence he left behind was deafening.
A short, bitter chuckle escaped me before I could stop it. It echoed in the quiet hallway, hollow and ugly. I looked around the living room, my chest tightening with every detail I noticed now that I was no longer welcome in it.
Zara’s toys were scattered across the rug—a stuffed bunny missing one eye, plastic blocks half-built into a crooked tower. The plate of cookies sat abandoned on the coffee table, one half-eaten, crumbs everywhere. The faint smell of vanilla still lingered in the air from the candle Miranda probably lit earlier, sweet and mocking.
It all felt like a cruel joke.
I dropped the napkin I had been clutching like a lifeline. It fell to the floor, forgotten.
Then I walked further into the living room.
“Zara,” I called softly, my voice already breaking. “Come on, baby. Pack your bags. We’re going home.”
She looked up from her dollhouse, eyebrows knitting together in confusion. “No.” Her little chin lifted, stubborn and familiar. “I don’t want to leave Daddy.”
My heart cracked just a little more.
“We’re going home,” I repeated, firmer now, because if I did not sound certain, I knew I would fall apart completely.
She shook her head. “No!”
I stepped closer and reached for her hand. The moment my fingers brushed hers, she pulled away like I had hurt her.
“No, Mummy!”
My chest tightened painfully. “Sweetheart,” I tried again, lowering myself to her level, softening my tone, “come on—”
She screamed.
The sound sliced through me, high and sharp and heartbreaking. It echoed off the walls, filled the room, tore straight through my chest.
I dropped her hand like it burned.
Footsteps thundered on the stairs. Ryan came rushing down, his face tight with alarm. “What the hell is going on?”
I did not answer. I could not.
My knees buckled and I sank to the floor right there on the rug, surrounded by toys and crumbs and the wreckage of a morning that had gone so wrong. Tears poured down my face before I could stop them, hot and relentless.
Ryan dropped to his knees beside me. “Hey… hey,” he said, his voice softer now. “What is going on?”
My crying only got louder. Ugly, choking sobs that shook my shoulders and stole my breath. I could not rein it in. I could not make it stop.
Zara started crying too, her small sobs joining mine, and the sound of it—of both of us breaking at the same time—nearly destroyed me.
I forced myself to stop.
For her.
I wiped my face quickly with the back of my hand, dragged in a shaky breath, and pushed myself to my feet. My head throbbed. My chest ached. My pride was in pieces on the floor.
“I’ll take my leave,” I said, my voice cold and flat, like I was already miles away.
I turned toward the door.
Ryan’s voice stopped me. “You won’t even talk?”
I looked back at him, my eyes burning. “I’m tired of talking.”
Zara’s cries grew louder, more desperate.
I turned to her, my heart breaking all over again. “It’s either you come with Mummy or stay with your daddy, Z. Don’t make this hard for me.”
The words tasted bitter. Cruel. Necessary.
She went quiet.
Her lip wobbled. Big tears rolled silently down her cheeks, leaving wet tracks on her skin. She looked between us, confused and hurt, too young to understand why the two people she loved most could not get it together.
Ryan turned to me, his jaw tight. “Just leave. Stop making her cry.”
Something in me collapsed.
I shook my head, my voice barely audible. “We… I’ll leave now.”
I did not wait for him to respond. I turned and ran out the door.
The moment I got to the car, I broke.
I slammed the door shut and sagged forward over the steering wheel, my shoulders shaking violently. Tears came hard and fast, blurring everything. My hands gripped the wheel so tightly my knuckles turned white, like holding on might keep me from falling completely apart.
I was angry.
I was tired.
I was humiliated.
I had come here thinking we could talk—really talk—about last night, about us, about the possibility of trying again. Instead, I had walked in on Miranda wearing his shirt, and he had looked me in the eye and said fine. She is.
I banged my hand against the steering wheel.
Again.
Again.
The sharp pain grounded me and gave my anger somewhere to go.
My phone rang.
I startled, wiping my tears roughly with my sleeve before answering without looking at the screen. “Hello?” My voice was thick, broken.
Cecilia’s voice came through the speaker—cool, clipped, and unmistakably controlled. “We need to meet, Emily.”
I sniffed, straightening slightly. “Why?”
There was a pause. Just long enough to make my stomach twist.
“You’ll know when you get here.”
Then the line went dead.