Chapter 235

Chapter 235
Emily's POV

I pulled my gaze away from the rearview mirror. Claire was still there, crouched by one of the newly transplanted trees in the old house's garden, her fingers gentle against the bark. She looked... peaceful. Like she was planting roots of her own.

I turned my attention to Stefan. The afternoon sun caught the sharp line of his jaw through the windshield, highlighting that slight furrow between his brows. His hands gripped the steering wheel a bit too tight.

He's worried about her. About leaving her there alone in Oak City.

I reached over and rested my hand on his thigh. His muscles tensed under my palm before relaxing slightly.

"She'll be okay," I said quietly.

Stefan's jaw worked for a moment. "I know."

But he didn't know. Not really. That's what the tight grip on the wheel meant. That's what the rigid set of his shoulders was telling me.

When you lose someone and get them back, you hold on tighter. You watch them like they might disappear if you blink. I understood that bone-deep fear—the terror of another loss after finally getting something precious back.

The highway stretched ahead of us, trees blurring past in shades of autumn gold and rust. We were heading back to Washington. Back to our life there. Back to whatever came next.

Together.

Three days later, I stood in the Washington estate's garden, scissors in hand, examining the cheerful white-and-yellow faces of the daisies. They'd bloomed so perfectly this year—almost aggressively optimistic against the grey October sky.

I snipped a few stems, gathering them into a loose bouquet. The morning had been peaceful—just me, the flowers, and the quiet rhythm of the garden. Stefan had left early for a video conference, and I'd taken my vitamins with breakfast like I did every morning now.

Those new vitamin C tablets he'd bought me. He'd been so insistent about them, explaining they were a better formulation, more effective. I'd swallowed them without thinking much about it—if Stefan said they'd help, I trusted him.

"Mrs. Ashford?"

I turned. Martha stood on the gravel path, wiping her hands on her apron.

"Dr. Harrison is here for your check-up," she said. "He's waiting in the sitting room."

Right. I'd almost forgotten about the appointment.

"Thanks, Martha. I'll be right there."

I gathered my daisies and headed inside, stopping by the kitchen to arrange them in a crystal vase before washing my hands and going to meet Harrison.

He stood when I entered, his leather medical bag at his feet. "Mrs. Ashford. Thank you for making time."

"Of course." I settled into the armchair across from him. "Though I have to say, I'm feeling much better. I'm not sure these check-ups are still necessary."

"Humor me," Harrison said with a slight smile. He pulled out his tablet. "How have you been feeling? Any fatigue? Headaches? Dizziness?"

"No, none of that. Really, I feel fine."

"Excellent." He made a note. "And you've been taking the vitamin supplements consistently? The ones Mr. Ashford provided?"

"Every day with breakfast."

Something flickered across his face—relief, maybe. Or satisfaction. "Good. It's important to maintain consistency with that particular formulation."

I nodded, though I still didn't quite understand why vitamins needed such careful monitoring. But Harrison was the expert, and if he thought they were important, I'd keep taking them.

"How is Stefan?" I asked, shifting the conversation. The question had been weighing on me. "I know you've been monitoring his health too."

Harrison's expression remained carefully neutral. "Mr. Ashford is managing as well as can be expected, given the circumstances."

Given the circumstances. The fertility issues discovered at the hospital.

My chest tightened.

"Is there anything I can do?" I asked quietly. "To help him?"

Harrison studied me for a long moment. "Continue being present, Mrs. Ashford. Continue being patient. These matters take time to process, both physically and emotionally."

"How much time?"

"That's difficult to say. Every case is unique." He paused. "But I can tell you that stress doesn't help. The more he can maintain a stable, supportive environment, the better."

I thought about Stefan's late nights in his office. The way he'd been throwing himself into work. The shadows under his eyes that no amount of sleep seemed to erase.

"I'll do whatever I can," I said.

"I know you will." Harrison packed away his tablet. "Just remember—you need to take care of yourself too. Your health is just as important. Continue taking those vitamins, get adequate rest, avoid unnecessary stress."

After he left, I stood on the front steps for a moment, watching his car disappear down the long driveway. The trees lining the path swayed in the wind, their remaining leaves clinging stubbornly to branches.

Stefan's struggling with this. With feeling like his body failed him. Failed us.

I knew that pain—the sense that your own body had betrayed you. I'd lived with it for years, thinking I'd die before thirty. But at least my "condition" hadn't been about our future together. About the family we might want someday.

God, he must feel so alone right now. So broken.

I went back inside and headed straight for Stefan's study. He was on a video call, so I waited in the doorway until he noticed me. When he did, his expression softened slightly.

He muted the call. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah. I just..." I stepped into the room. "I love you. That's all."

Stefan's throat worked. For a second, I thought he might say something, but then he just nodded. "I love you too."

I left him to his call, but my mind kept circling back to the same thought: We'll figure this out. Whatever it takes—adoption, surrogacy, IVF if that's even possible—we'll find a way.

As long as we have each other, we can handle anything.

The evening of the gala arrived with unexpected snow. I stood at the hotel suite window, watching fat flakes drift past the glass. Snow in Washington wasn't exactly rare, but it wasn't common either—especially not this early in the season.

The champagne-colored dress hung on the closet door, its feathered one-shoulder design catching the lamplight. It was beautiful. Elegant. Exactly the kind of thing Stefan's wife should wear to a political fundraiser filled with senators and lobbyists and people whose handshakes could make or break careers.

I touched the delicate feathers, feeling their softness against my fingertips.

Tonight matters. All those political and business connections Stefan needs to maintain—I need to be the right kind of presence at his side. Supportive but not submissive. Elegant but not ostentatious. Warm but not desperate for approval.

I can do this. I've played harder roles.

An hour later, I stepped into the hotel ballroom in my heels, scanning the crowd for Stefan's familiar broad shoulders. The space glittered with chandeliers and carefully calculated charm. Champagne flowed. Laughter rang out at precisely the right volume to seem genuine without being raucous.

There—near the bar.

My stomach tightened.

Stefan stood with his back partially to me, and a man I didn't recognize had positioned himself far too close. The stranger's hand rested on the bar mere inches from Stefan's, his body angled in a way that clearly excluded everyone else from their conversation. His eyes held that unmistakable glint of interest, and his smile was just a shade too intimate for a business function.

Oh, for God's sake. Not again.

Stefan's charisma—that magnetic pull he had—it attracted all kinds of attention. Some of it welcome. Much of it decidedly not. He handled it with his usual cold efficiency, but I could read the tension in his shoulders from across the room.

I started forward.

Several heads turned as I passed. I caught whispered greetings, saw recognition spark in eyes.

"Mrs. Ashford—"

"Good evening, Mrs. Ashford—"

I smiled, nodded, kept moving. The stranger noticed the shift in attention, glancing over his shoulder. When his eyes landed on me, his confident expression faltered.

I stopped beside Stefan, letting my hand rest lightly on his arm. His muscles relaxed infinitesimally under my touch.

My gaze drifted to the overly-friendly man for exactly two seconds—just long enough to let a polite smile curve my lips while my eyes delivered a different message entirely.

"Darling," I said to Stefan, my voice warm. "Senator Morrison is looking for us."

I let the pause stretch just long enough. "Shall we go over?"

Stefan's hand found the small of my back. "Of course."

The stranger stepped back, his smile turning brittle. "Don't let me keep you."

As we walked away, Stefan's thumb traced a small circle against my spine through the silk dress.

"Thank you," he murmured, low enough that only I could hear.

I glanced up at him, catching the gratitude in his eyes—and something else. Weariness, maybe. Or relief at having an excuse to escape.

"Always," I said softly.