What she needs is space and the chance to figure out her next move without me looming over her.
So I set the phone down again.
And for the first time in my life, I accept that there's nothing more I can do.
The hardest deal I've ever had to close isn't about money or property or power.
It's about trusting that the woman I love is strong enough to save herself.
And that maybe, just maybe, when she does, there'll still be room in her life for me.
I lean back in my chair, the leather creaking softly, and look out the window. Outside, the city moves on. Inside, I sit with the fragile hope that I haven't completely destroyed everything.
Chapter 23
Emma
The ceiling has a water stain shaped like Italy.
I've been staring at it for the last hour, wrapped in a cocoon of blankets on my sofa, and the irony isn't lost on me. Italy. Where this whole disaster started. Where I made the choice that led to every single catastrophic thing that's happened since.
My phone buzzes for the umpteenth time. I don't look at it.
Could be Grant. Or Poppy. Could be some automated reminder that my life is falling apart and I have bills due.
Doesn't matter. I'm not answering.
I did my morning shift at the restaurant earlier, and that’s all I can manage for the day. At least when I’m there, I’m too busy to think about everything else.
When I’m home alone, the fight with Grant plays on a loop in my head, a highlight reel of my own worst moments. His face when I compared him to my father. The way his voice cracked when I said I couldn't be with him. The devastation in his eyes when I walked away.
My chest aches like something's broken inside it. Which is stupid because hearts don't actually break. They just keepbeating, keep forcing you to stay alive even when you've destroyed the best thing that ever happened to you.
The phone buzzes again. I burrow deeper into the blankets.
My stomach growls, reminding me I haven't eaten since breakfast. I really should get up and make myself something to eat. But I just can’t find the energy
Another buzz. Then another.
"Go away," I mutter to the phone.
It doesn't listen. Just keeps buzzing with the persistence of someone who knows me well enough to be worried.
Poppy, probably. She's texted me approximately sixty times just since yesterday. Variations on the same theme:Are you okay? Call me. Emma, seriously, I'm coming over if you don't respond.
I should answer. Should let her know I'm alive, at least. But that would require moving.
So I stay cocooned. Stay staring at ceiling-Italy. Stay replaying the moment I chose my fear over the man I love.
The twins flutter inside me. Something that's becoming more frequent now that I'm eighteen weeks along. They're the size of bell peppers, according to the app. Growing completely oblivious to the fact that their mother just destroyed their family before it even had a chance to begin.
Fresh tears leak from the corners of my eyes, sliding into my hair.
I'm so tired of crying. Tired of feeling like I'm simultaneously making the right choice and the worst mistake of my life.
You're letting fear destroy what we have.
Grant's words. Accurate and devastating.
