The phone buzzes again, but this time it's followed by a different sound.
A key in my lock.
I sit up so fast the blankets slide to the floor, my heart suddenly racing. Grant has a key. He insisted after I got locked out that one time, and I let him make a copy because it seemed practical, and?—
But it's not Grant who walks through my door.
It's Poppy.
She's wearing her signature combat boots and a vintage band t-shirt, her hair pulled into a high ponytail. She takes one look at me—blanket cocoon, tear-stained face, general disaster aesthetic—and her expression shifts from worry to something harder.
Determination.
"Okay," she says, dropping her bag by the door. "Intervention time."
"I don't need an intervention." My voice comes out hoarse from disuse. "I need to be left alone."
"Nope. Not happening." She crosses to the sofa and physically moves my legs so she can sit. "You've been ignoring my texts. You look like you haven’t showered since I don’t know when. And unless I'm very wrong, you're currently having a breakdown of epic proportions."
"I'm fine."
"Emma." Her voice goes soft. "You're many things right now, but fine isn't one of them."
The gentleness in her tone cracks me open. Fresh tears well up, and I press my hands against my eyes, trying to stop them.
"I can’t believe I broke up with him," I whisper. “I told him I couldn't be with him. That accepting his help would make me—would turn me into?—"
"Your mother. Yeah, babe, I got that part." Poppy's hand finds mine, squeezing. "And I love you. You know I love you. But Emma, we need to talk about what you did."
I pull my hands away from my eyes. "What I did? Poppy, he tried to buy my company. Tried to solve my problems with his damn money."
"He offered to invest in your business after his psycho ex-wife sabotaged your investor situation." Poppy's voice is calm and rational. The tone she uses when she's about to say something I won't want to hear. "That's not the same thing as controlling you."
"Isn't it?" I pull my knees to my chest, wrapping my arms around them. "It's exactly what my father would do. See a problem, throw money at it, and expect complete compliance in return."
"Grant isn't your father."
I shake my head. "But the pattern's the same. Powerful man, younger woman, his resources solving her problems. How long before I'm just another thing he owns?"
Poppy is quiet for a long moment. When she speaks again, her voice has an edge I rarely hear.
"Do you hear yourself right now?"
I blink. "What?"
"Emma, I've been your best friend since we were sixteen. I've watched you fight like hell to build this. I've cheered you on every step of the way. But right now? Right now, you're so scared of becoming your mother that you can't see what’s actually going on."
The words hit like a slap. "That's not?—"
"It is." She cuts me off, her expression fierce. "Your mom didn't just accept help from your dad. She gave up and stopped fighting. Let your dad make every decision until she forgot how to make her own. But Emma, that's not who you are. You would never let anyone do that to you."
"You don't know that."
"Idoknow that." Poppy grabs both my hands, forcing me to look at her. "You're the most stubborn, independent, fiercely determined person I know. You bootstrapped a business with no help, no family money, no safety net. You stood up to your father when he tried to control you. You've been fighting your whole life to be your own person. Accepting money from a man who loves you isn't going to undo all of that."
"But what if it does?" The question comes out small. Scared. "What if I take his money and it feels good? What if I start depending on him and forget how to depend on myself?"
"Then I'll kick your ass." Poppy's smile is gentle. "That's what best friends are for. But Emma, here's the thing you're missing—partnership isn't the same as dependency. Letting someone help you doesn't mean losing yourself. It just means you're not alone anymore."
