I want to argue. Want to explain all the ways she's wrong, all the reasons I can't risk it.
But the words won't come.
Because I feel more alone than I've ever felt.
And maybe—maybe—that's not the victory I thought it was.
"I love him," I whisper.
"I know."
"But I’m so scared."
"I know that too." Poppy squeezes my hands. "But Emma, love is supposed to make you feel vulnerable. That's the whole point. You can't have the good parts without the scary parts."
"What if the scary parts win?"
"What if they don't?" She tilts her head. "What if you take the risk, accept his help, and you build something amazing together? What if letting him in doesn't make you smaller, but bigger?"
The possibility sits between us.
Before I can respond, before I can really process what she's saying, my buzzer sounds.
We both freeze.
"Are you expecting someone?" Poppy asks.
"No." My heart starts racing. "Grant wouldn't—he doesn't buzz, he has a key."
The buzzer sounds again. Longer this time. More insistent.
Poppy and I exchange a look. She shrugs, and I stand on unsteady legs, moving to the intercom.
"Hello?"
"Emma?" The voice is young. Female. Vaguely familiar. "It's Samantha. Samantha Cross. Can I—can I come up?"
What the actual fuck.
Samantha. Grant's daughter. The girl who looked at me like I was something disgusting at that disastrous lunch. Who made it crystal clear that she would never accept me.
"What?" The word comes out strangled.
"Please." Her voice cracks slightly. "I just—I need to talk to you. It's important."
I look at Poppy. She's standing now, her expression wary.
"Do you want me to tell her to leave?" she asks quietly.
I should. Should tell Samantha I have nothing to say to her. That I don't have the energy for round two.
But something in her voice stops me.
"Come on up," I say, and press the button.
The next thirty seconds are excruciating. Poppy and I stand in tense silence. My heart hammers against my ribs. My palms are sweaty.
This could be anything. Another attack. More accusations. Maybe Victoria sent her.
