Chapter 31 031
EMILY
I drove to the hospital like a madwoman.
The steering wheel felt slick beneath my palms, my hands trembling so badly I had to keep adjusting my grip. My foot pressed the gas harder than it should have, the speedometer climbing while my brain screamed at me to slow down. Red lights blurred past. Horns blared. Someone shouted something out of a window as I cut across lanes.
I didn’t care.
All I could hear was Ryan’s voice, tight and urgent through the phone.
Zara’s in the hospital.
The words replayed on a loop, each repetition louder than the last, clawing at my chest until it hurt to breathe. My heart hammered so violently I was sure it would shatter my ribs. Every worst-case scenario flashed through my mind—blood, sirens, broken bones, machines beeping while my daughter lay still and silent.
I couldn’t lose her.
I pulled into the parking lot too fast, the tires screeching as I swung into the first open space I saw. I didn’t bother locking the car. I didn’t grab my bag. I just shoved the door open and ran.
My sneakers slapped against the pavement as I sprinted toward the entrance, lungs burning, vision tunneling. The automatic doors slid open just as I reached them, and there he was.
Ryan.
He stood just inside the entrance, shoulders tense, eyes scanning until they landed on me. The moment he saw me, he started walking toward me, hands raised like he was trying to calm a wild animal.
I didn’t slow down.
“What happened to my daughter?” I demanded the second I reached him. My voice cracked on the last word, splitting open something raw inside my chest.
He caught my arms gently, firm but careful, like he was afraid I might fall apart in his hands. “Emily. Breathe. She’s okay now. She’s stable.”
“Okay,” I said too quickly. My breaths came out shallow and fast. “Okay. Please—please take me to see her.”
He nodded once and guided me inside, his hand settling at my lower back.
I hated how much I needed it.
The hospital swallowed us whole. The air smelled like antiseptic and fear, sharp enough to sting my nose. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting everything in a sickly glow. Nurses moved quickly down the hall, their shoes squeaking softly against the polished floors. Somewhere nearby, a monitor beeped steadily, each sound tightening the knot in my stomach.
Ryan didn’t let go of me as we walked. His hand stayed at my back, guiding me through turns and corridors, past doors with half-drawn curtains and hushed voices inside. I focused on the feel of his palm, using it as an anchor so I didn’t spiral.
We turned one last corner.
Ryan slowed.
I stopped dead in the doorway.
Zara was sitting up in the hospital bed, her dark curls a little messy, cheeks flushed with color. She looked… fine. More than fine. She was smiling, wide and bright and unmistakably herself.
Relief slammed into me so hard my knees almost buckled.
And then I saw her.
A woman sat on the edge of the mattress beside Zara, holding her hand like it was the most natural thing in the world. She was beautiful in a polished, effortless way—long dark hair falling over one shoulder, soft smile, tailored clothes that screamed money and control. She leaned in close to Zara, her posture intimate, familiar.
Zara looked up and spotted me.
“Mommy!” she squealed. “This is the pretty lady!”
My blood turned to ice.
For half a second, the room tilted, like the ground beneath my feet had shifted without warning.
I stepped inside slowly, my body moving on instinct while my mind lagged behind, scrambling to catch up. My eyes flicked from Zara to the woman beside her and back again. Just moments ago, relief had flooded my veins—hot, overwhelming, almost dizzying. Now it drained away, replaced by something sharp and ugly that crawled up my spine.
“Who are you?” I asked.
My voice came out low. Controlled. Dangerous. Even to my own ears.
The woman startled, clearly unprepared for the hostility crackling in the air. She stood up quickly, color blooming across her cheeks as if she’d been caught doing something wrong. “I’m Miranda,” she said, her tone polite, almost nervous, like she was trying very hard not to upset me.
I took her in deliberately. She looked like someone who closed deals over lunch and rode in the backseat of sleek black cars—not someone who belonged sitting at my daughter’s bedside in a children’s hospital.
Ryan cleared his throat.
“Miranda,” he said carefully, his voice measured, “can you please wait for me outside?”
She didn’t argue. She nodded immediately. “Of course.”
Then she turned back to Zara, her expression softening in a way that made my chest tighten. She leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to my daughter’s forehead, like she’d done it before. “Be good, baby.”
Zara beamed up at her. “Okay!”
Something inside me twisted painfully—tight and hot and impossible to name.
Miranda walked past me without meeting my eyes. The brush of her perfume lingered for a second too long. The door clicked shut behind her.
The silence that followed was thick. Suffocating. It pressed in on my ears until I could hear my own heartbeat.
I turned slowly to Ryan.
“Really?” I said. “Really?”
He blinked, genuinely confused. “What?”
“You went to pick up my daughter from school with that lady?”
He sighed, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “She fainted when we got there. Zara, I mean. Miranda was in the car with me. She helped. That’s all.”
I put both hands on my head, fingers digging into my hair as I paced once, trying to keep my voice from shaking. “You went to pick up my daughter from school with that lady?”
He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Are you jealous?”
Heat rushed into my face, fast and humiliating. “Of course not,” I snapped. “I just don’t want strangers around my daughter.”
His expression softened, something unreadable passing through his eyes. “I see.”
Before I could respond, the door opened again.
A doctor stepped inside.
He was middle-aged, with kind eyes and a calm presence that immediately shifted the energy in the room. He held a clipboard against his chest and glanced between Ryan and me.
“Can I have a moment with you both?” he asked gently.
I looked at Zara. She was already distracted, tapping away at a game on Ryan’s phone, her tongue poking out slightly in concentration, blissfully unaware of the tension around her.
I nodded. “Yes.”
The doctor closed the door behind him.
He took a quiet breath, then looked at us—first at me, then at Ryan.
“Your daughter has a hole in her heart.”