Chapter 34 034
RYAN
The surgery was a success.
Those were the words the doctor used, calm and practiced, like they were part of a script he’d repeated a hundred times before. Like they were supposed to land softly. Like they were supposed to fix everything.
They didn’t.
I stood in the hallway outside the operating room long after the red light above the doors flicked from red to green and the double doors finally opened.
My back was pressed flat against the wall, the cool surface seeping through my shirt. My arms were folded so tightly across my chest my knuckles had gone white, fingers numb from the pressure.
I kept my eyes trained on the floor, on the faint scuff marks and cracks in the linoleum, because looking up meant seeing the stressed look on everyone else’s faces.
And I wasn’t ready for that yet.
Not fully.
Not when the fear was still sitting heavy in my chest like wet concrete, refusing to harden, refusing to move.
The doctor came out first.
He looked tired. Scrubs wrinkled, cap pulled off, faint lines etched around his eyes from hours under bright lights and sharper pressure. But he smiled when he saw us, and it was the kind of smile that carried good news.
“She did great,” he said. “The repair went smoothly. She’s stable. We’ll move her to recovery soon. Only two people at a time in the room with her.”
Emily exhaled sharply beside me, like the air had finally been released from her lungs after being trapped there for days. Her shoulders sagged, just a little, and I saw her bring a hand up to her mouth as if she were trying to keep herself from breaking down completely.
Morgan had arrived just minutes before they wheeled Zara into surgery. She’d rushed in breathless, hair pulled back hastily, eyes wide with worry. Now she squeezed Emily’s hand tightly, grounding her.
Then Emily turned to Morgan.
“Do you mind coming in with me?” she asked. Her voice was soft. Careful. Almost apologetic.
Morgan glanced at me.
It was quick. Sideways. But I saw it.
I took in a slow breath and forced the words out before the hurt could show on my face. “It’s fine.”
Emily didn’t look at me.
She just nodded once, quick and final, and followed the nurse through the doors without another word.
I stayed there for another second, staring at the spot where she’d disappeared. At the doors that had closed behind her.
Then I turned and walked out.
The hospital parking lot was too bright.
The sun reflected off windshields and glass doors, bouncing light into my eyes until they stung. I squinted as I crossed the lot, my steps heavy, my body moving on autopilot. I got into the car, shut the door, and started the engine.
And then I just sat there.
Hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly my wrists ached. Breathing shallow. Chest tight.
I’ve made up my mind.
The thought came suddenly, fully formed, like it had been waiting for a moment of quiet to surface.
I don’t think I want to build something more with Emily.
Not anymore.
Not if every time I reach for her, she flinches like she’s bracing for impact. Not if every time I try to show up, she reminds me how much was broken. Not if the only time she lets me close is when she’s scared and has no one else to turn to.
I drove home.
The apartment greeted me with silence.
The kind that felt louder than any noise.
Zara’s toys were still in the corner from the last time she stayed over. Plastic teacups scattered on the rug. A Barbie doll missing half her clothes. The purple backpack she always carried like treasure, sitting slumped against the wall.
I stared at it all and felt something crack inside me.
This place was supposed to feel like progress. Instead, it felt empty.
My phone buzzed while I was driving. Once. Twice. Again. By the time I pulled into the parking space, it had buzzed seven times.
All from Mom.
I sighed and grabbed it, calling her back the second I walked through the door.
She picked up on the first ring.
“Ryan, what is going on?” she demanded. “Why haven’t you brought our granddaughter over yet? You said you would. You promised.”
I leaned back against the kitchen counter, the cool stone pressing into my lower spine. Suddenly, I felt bone-tired. The kind of exhaustion that went deeper than sleep.
“Zara had surgery today, Mom.”
Silence.
Then her voice came back high and panicked, already breaking. “What? Surgery? When? Is she okay? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“She’s okay now,” I said, rubbing my temple. “It was a heart thing. Congenital. They caught it in time. She’s recovering.”
“I’m on my way,” she said immediately. “We’re coming right now.”
“Mom—”
But she’d already hung up.
The line went dead.
I scoffed and tossed the phone onto the counter.
Of course she was coming.
Of course she wanted to see Zara now, when there was drama and fear and something she could rush into.
I dropped onto the couch and closed my eyes.
My head fell back against the cushion as I replayed everything in fragments. Emily’s face in the chapel. Zara’s tiny body on the hospital bed. The way Miranda’s hand had rested on my arm. The look Morgan had given me.
Nothing fit together the way it was supposed to.
About an hour later, the doorbell rang.
I didn’t move.
It rang again.
And again.
With a heavy sigh, I dragged myself up and crossed the apartment, every step slower than the last. I opened the door.
Mom stood there.
Her eyes were red, lashes clumped together with dried tears. Her purse was clutched tight against her chest like armor. Behind her stood Dad, hands shoved into his pockets, shoulders slightly hunched. He looked older than I remembered. Smaller. Like time had been working on him while we weren’t looking.
“Ryan,” Mom said, her voice trembling.