"She's still your mother," I say softly.
"Yeah." Samantha's laugh is hollow. "Lucky me."
She moves to the window, staring out at the city. Her shoulders are tight, her whole body radiating tension.
"I have this memory," she says after a moment. "From when I was little. My parents were fighting—they fought all the time back then, but this was bad. My dad accused my mom ofmanipulating a business deal, of lying to someone to get what she wanted. And she just... smiled. Told him that's how the world works. That only idiots play fair."
She turns back to face me. "I remember thinking my dad was being dramatic. That my mom was just smarter about how the world worked. But now I wonder how many times she did that. How many people she hurt just because she could."
The vulnerability in her voice makes me want to give her a hug.
"Samantha—"
"You're not what I thought," she interrupts. "When I met you at lunch, I just—I assumed the worst. Assumed you were using him for his money. That you got pregnant on purpose to trap him. But that's not it, is it?"
I shake my head slowly. "No. That's not it."
"You actually love him."
It's not a question, but I answer anyway. "Yes."
"And he loves you. Like, really loves you. I've never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at you." She swallows hard. "Not even my mom, back when they were happy."
She looks so damn sad.
"I'm not trying to take your dad away from you," I say carefully. "That was never—I never meant to hurt you."
"I know," Samantha says. "I think I knew that even at lunch. I was just so angry. At my dad for moving on. At you for existing." She stops. "I knew it was stupid of me, but I couldn’t stop."
Poppy clears her throat. "I'm going to make tea. Everyone want some tea?"
It's an obvious excuse to give us space, and I'm grateful for it. Samantha and I stand awkwardly in my living room, this girl I barely know who was so brave to come here today.
"Can I ask you something?" Samantha says.
"Sure."
"Why did you break up with my dad?"
I didn’t realize she knew, and the question startles me. "How did you?—"
"He called me a few days ago and he sounded—" She pauses. "Destroyed. I've never heard my dad sound like that. Not even during the divorce."
Guilt crashes over me. "It's complicated."
"Because he offered to fund your business?"
I stare at her. "How much did he tell you?"
"Enough." She crosses her arms. "And Emma, I totally get it. I get being scared of depending on someone. My mom used my dad's money as a weapon my whole life. Made everything conditional. But my dad—he's not like that. He just wants to help you."
"That's what everyone keeps saying."
"Maybe because it's true." Samantha's voice is gentle. "Listen, I blamed him for the divorce, for working too much and never being home. But even when I was being a complete brat, he never stopped trying. Never stopped showing up. Never used money to buy my affection."
She moves closer, her expression earnest. "My mom does that. Throws money at problems, at people, at anything she can't control. But my dad—he offers help because he can't stand watching people he loves struggle. There's a big difference."
The words echo what Poppy said. What Grant himself said. What some part of me has known all along but was too scared to acknowledge.
