Chapter 239
Chapter 239
Stefan's POV
The Oak City skyline blurred past the window, streetlights stretching into ribbons of light in the rearview mirror. I sat in the back seat, my gaze fixed on Emily—she leaned against the door with her eyes closed, lashes casting tiny shadows in the dim light.
The scene from earlier kept replaying in my head.
That baby slipping from my arms. Emily catching her without hesitation, her movements so natural, so practiced. Like she was born to hold a child.
She must want one too.
My fingers tightened on my knee. Dr. Harrison's words sliced through my memory like a blade—"Mr. Ashford, frankly speaking, the probability of natural conception is close to zero. Not completely impossible, but statistically..."
Not a hundred percent infertile. But close enough.
I looked at Emily's peaceful profile, something heavy lodging in my chest. She could never know. Could never think this was her fault, carry that kind of guilt. This was my problem. My body betraying us both.
The driver kept the ride smooth. Emily's breathing stayed even and calm. I leaned back, closed my eyes, but all I could see was her holding that baby named Lily.
She would be a good mother.
And I couldn't give her that.
---
The next morning, I waited for her in the dining room. Jonathan had already set out breakfast—Emily's favorite blueberry scones, fresh juice, and that Earl Grey tea she'd recently become obsessed with.
She walked in wearing a beige cardigan, hair casually pulled into a ponytail. "Morning."
"Morning." I set down my coffee cup. "There's something I want to discuss."
She sat across from me, picking up her fork. "What is it?"
"Things have quieted down in Washington." I tried to keep my tone casual. "With the next few months relatively free, I've arranged for a photographer to shoot our wedding photos in Oak City."
Her movement stopped.
I watched her gaze drop to the wedding band on my left hand—that simple platinum ring catching the morning light.
"When did you decide this?" Her voice was soft.
"I started planning about six months ago."
Actually eight months. The day after I got the test results, I'd contacted the photographer. Back then I thought, if I couldn't give her a child, at least I could give her a proper wedding. A ceremony. Something permanent we could hold onto.
Emily lifted her head, something unreadable flickering in her eyes.
"You should wear that wedding dress," I said, forcing my voice steady. "Then have the ceremony, officially become Mrs. Ashford in front of everyone."
This was what I could give her. Even without children, I could give her this.
She bit her lower lip and nodded. "Okay."
---
Four days later, we drove back to Oak City.
The photography team had already set up on the city's busiest street. Seven dresses, seven days of shooting planned. I wanted to give her enough beautiful memories—enough to fill in all the things I couldn't provide.
When Emily emerged from the dressing room, I was confirming camera angles with the photographer.
She wore the first white dress—a sleek mermaid cut, lace extending from shoulders to wrists. Her hair was pinned up, exposing the delicate line of her neck.
She should have worn this five years ago.
Back when I didn't know about my condition. When I could still let myself imagine a future—picture her walking through Oak Manor's garden with a baby bump, imagine Christmas mornings filled with children's laughter.
"Ready?" the photographer asked.
I nodded, walking to Emily's side. She looked at me, a mix of nervousness and anticipation in her eyes.
"Relax," I murmured, taking her hand. "Just like normal."
Her fingers curled gently in my palm.
---
Day three brought us to Magnolia Street.
Rows of crabapple trees lined both sides, now in full bloom. Pink-white petals drifted down in the breeze like soft snow.
We'd just finished a series of shots holding hands beneath the trees. The photographer was checking his camera. Emily stood beside me, tilting her head to look up at the branches.
"Stefan."
That voice made me turn.
Claire stood at the corner, holding a white Polaroid camera. She wore a simple beige trench coat, hair in a low ponytail, looking more relaxed than when I'd last seen her at Oak Manor two weeks ago.
"Mom." The word escaped before I remembered we had an audience.
She took a few steps closer, eyes moving between Emily and me. "May I take a few shots from the side?" Her voice was quiet. "I promise not to interfere with the professional photographer."
I saw the careful uncertainty in her eyes—that tentative, afraid-to-be-rejected expression. Jonathan had mentioned she was learning photography. He'd said it was her way of rebuilding, finding herself again.
"Of course." I nodded. "Feel free."
Claire's expression softened slightly. She stepped back, finding her angles alone, occasionally raising the camera to press the shutter.
Emily whispered beside me, "Is she doing alright?"
"I think so." I watched Claire's focused profile. "She's trying to adapt."
Adapt to a life without William, without captivity, without erased memories. Adapt to being free.
---
Evening fell as we drove away from the shoot.
Orange-gold sunset painted the sky, bathing the entire city in warm tones. I drove from the front seat, watching through the rearview mirror as Emily and Claire sat in back, looking through today's Polaroids.
"This one's really good," Emily said, genuine surprise in her voice. "You captured the light perfectly."
"Thank you." Claire's voice had softened too. "I just happened to press the shutter at the right moment."
They interacted more naturally than I'd expected. Emily had that ability—making people relax around her, let down their guards.
Watching them chat quietly in the back seat, something complex stirred in my chest. If we could have children, what kind of mother would Emily be? Gentle, patient, like she was with Claire?
Red light.
I pressed the brake, the car slowing to a stop.
"Stefan." Emily passed a photo forward. "Look at this one."
I took the Polaroid.
In the photo, Emily stood under the crabapple tree in that white dress. I was half a step behind her, both of us caught mid-glance at each other. At that exact moment, wind had blown a single petal down, landing perfectly on her forehead.
Her smile was so real, so unguarded. And the way I looked at her held something I wasn't even sure how to define.
"This one's beautiful," Emily said.
I studied the photo carefully, trying to remember that moment. What had I been thinking?
Oh, right.
If only time could freeze right here.
"You know," Emily continued, "Claire won second place at an international photography competition earlier this year."
"Really?" I glanced at Claire through the mirror.
She ducked her head, face flushing slightly. "I really only know how to shoot flowers..."
"Don't say that." Emily's tone was serious. "This photo captures something... something very precious."
The light turned green.
I carefully placed the photo on the passenger seat, pressing the gas. Through the mirror, I saw Claire organizing her camera with focused attention.
She was slowly finding herself again.
That was good.
Maybe we were all slowly finding something back—or learning to let go of things we couldn't have. I gripped the steering wheel, focused on the road ahead, but Emily's smile from that photo kept echoing in my mind.
That moment was beautiful.
But I knew some beautiful moments were meant to stay frozen in photographs, never extending into the future we'd once imagined.
The car moved forward, sunset sinking below the horizon, leaving one last golden glow across the sky.