Chapter 68 068
EMILY
I didn’t sleep.
Not even for a minute.
I lay there staring at the ceiling, eyes burning, body heavy, mind refusing to shut the hell up. Every time I closed my eyes, the same awful images replayed themselves like a cruel loop I couldn’t escape.
Ryan laughing with Miranda. Ryan’s hand on her back. Ryan’s voice—low, intimate—the way it used to sound when it was only meant for me.
Then the other version of him crashed in right after.
Ryan standing in my kitchen weeks ago, looking at me like I was the only thing that mattered. Ryan promising we’d take things slow, do it right this time. Ryan kissing me in the car, desperate and consuming, like he was afraid to lose me again.
And then… nothing.
The silence of my phone was the loudest thing in the room. I checked it so many times my fingers felt numb. I watched the screen glow and fade, glow and fade, until the battery warning popped up like a final insult.
No call. No text. No explanation.
By the time the first thin streak of gray morning light slipped through the curtains, I felt hollowed out. Raw. Like someone had reached inside my chest and scraped everything soft and hopeful out with a spoon.
I hated how much it hurt.
I really thought we were building something this time. Something real. Something solid. Not just nostalgia and unfinished business, but something grown and intentional and careful. I let myself imagine dinners together. Lazy Sundays. Maybe even laughter without tension hanging over it like a storm cloud.
And then he ghosts me for an entire night?
After everything?
Screw him.
Screw him for making me feel stupid. For making me feel small. For making me feel like I’d once again been the woman waiting by the door with a table set for someone who didn’t show up.
Morning came way too fast.
Monday.
Work.
Reality.
I dragged myself out of bed, my body aching like I’d run a marathon instead of lying awake torturing myself. I splashed cold water on my face, barely recognizing the woman staring back at me—puffy eyes, pale skin, mouth set in a line that felt permanently tired.
Then I went to Zara’s room.
She was buried under her unicorn comforter, pink and glittery and ridiculous, one little foot sticking out the way it always did. It was like she subconsciously needed proof the world hadn’t swallowed her whole overnight.
“Baby girl,” I whispered, brushing the curls off her cheek. “Time to rise and shine.”
She groaned, dramatic as ever, and rolled onto her stomach, pulling the blanket over her head. “Five more minutes, Mommy.”
I smiled despite myself. “Nope. School waits for no one.”
I tugged the blanket down just enough to see her sleepy pout. “Come on. Daddy’s picking you up later, okay?”
That got her attention.
She sat up slowly, rubbing her eyes. “Why do you live so far from Daddy?” she asked quietly. “I don’t like it.”
My heart twisted so sharply it almost knocked the breath out of me.
God, this kid.
She saw everything. Felt everything. Even when I tried so hard to protect her from the mess of adult emotions and broken promises.
I sat on the edge of her bed and pulled her into my lap. She was warm and soft and smelled like strawberry shampoo. I kissed her temple and held her close, grounding myself in the simple fact that no matter how much everything else hurt, she was still here.
“Don’t you like having two houses?” I asked gently. “One with me and one with Daddy? It’s like having two bedrooms full of love.”
She shook her head immediately, stubborn little chin lifting. “My friends don’t have two houses. They all have one house with both their mommies and daddies.”
I swallowed hard, forcing my voice to stay steady. “Having two houses makes you special, Zara. Different. And honestly?” I smiled softly. “A little richer in the love department than most kids. You get double the hugs, double the bedtime stories, double the everything.”
She thought about that, her brow furrowing in that serious way that always made her look older than she was. Then a tiny smile crept onto her face.
She wrapped her arms around my neck and squeezed. “You and Daddy will be with me forever, right?”
The words sliced through me.
“Forever and ever, darling,” I said, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Promise.”
She hugged me tighter, like she was sealing the deal, and for a brief moment the knot in my stomach loosened.
At least I’d bought us a little peace.
For now.
I got her dressed, fed her pancakes drowned in extra syrup because rules felt optional this morning, and dropped her at school with one last kiss blown through the car window. She waved until I turned the corner and couldn’t see her anymore.
Then it was straight to the bakery.
I needed to focus.
I’d been slacking lately—too many half-days, too many excuses, too many moments staring off into space thinking about Ryan when I should’ve been thinking about dough temperatures and proofing times.
The new salted-caramel twist on the cinnamon rolls wasn’t going to perfect itself.
If I kept selling the same old doughnuts and plain loaves, I’d stay small forever. Comfortable. Safe. Invisible.
I wanted more.
I wanted people lining up around the block for something only I could make.
I pulled into the parking lot behind the shop, killed the engine, and grabbed my bag. Just as I stepped out, another car slid into the spot right behind mine.
Black SUV.
Familiar.
My stomach dropped.
Ryan, of course.
I slammed my door harder than necessary and crossed my arms, glaring as he climbed out. He looked awful—dark circles under his eyes, shirt wrinkled, hair a mess like he’d dragged his hands through it all night.
Good.
He deserved to look wrecked.
He walked toward me slowly, hands raised like I was a skittish animal. “Em. I’m so sorry.”
I shook my head. “Don’t.”
“Please,” he said quickly. “Just hear me out.”
“Decency, Ryan.” My voice cracked despite how hard I tried to keep it steady. “You could’ve at least canceled. Sent a text. Told me to put the food away, that you weren’t coming. Anything. But you just… disappeared.”
“I know.” His shoulders slumped. “I messed up. Badly.”
“That’s an understatement.” I laughed, sharp and bitter.
He winced. “I tried calling. I swear. The signal kept dropping. I was in a dead zone half the night.”
“Right.” I rolled my eyes. “Because your mom didn’t already tell me you were with Miranda. Nice try.”
His face drained of color. “It’s not what you think.”
“Then what is it?” I snapped. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks exactly like what I think.”
He reached for his phone, fumbling like he could pull out proof, screenshots, something to save himself. “Let me show you—”
“No.” I held up a hand. “I don’t want to see it. I don’t want to hear excuses. I don’t want any of it right now.”
“Emily…” His voice softened, pleading. The way he said my name always undid me. “It really isn’t what it looks like. I promise.”
“You know what hurts the most?” I whispered. “I believed you this time. I let myself believe we were different. That we were finally getting it right.”
“We are,” he said immediately. “We are different. I just—last night was complicated. Family stuff. Miranda showed up and—”
“Stop.” My throat burned. “I said I don’t want to hear it.”
He exhaled, long and shaky, running a hand through his hair. “Okay. Okay. Not here. Not like this. Can we talk tonight? After Zara’s in bed? Please.”
I looked away, blinking fast so he wouldn’t see the tears threatening to spill. “I don’t know.”
“Em, please.”
He stepped closer. I could smell his cologne—woodsy, familiar, dangerous. He leaned in slowly, like he was asking permission, and tried to press a kiss to my forehead.
I stepped back.
His face crumpled. Just for a second. Then he nodded, swallowing whatever he was feeling.
“Have a good day, then,” he said quietly.
He turned and walked toward his car.
Have a good day?
Have a good day my ass.
I hope he has the worst day of his life.