I don't care.
I'll deal with David. I'll deal with the explosion, the fallout, the probable end of our friendship. I'll deal with Victoria finding out and weaponizing it. I'll deal with Samantha's disgust and the social implications and every other consequence this news carries.
But first, I need to make sure Emma knows she's not alone in this.
"Okay," I hear myself say. My voice is steady, calm, even though my heart is hammering and my mind is racing. "Okay."
Emma blinks at me. "Okay?"
"You're pregnant. With my baby." I squeeze her hands gently. "We'll figure this out."
The tears that have been threatening finally spill over, tracking down her cheeks. "You're not angry?"
"Angry?" The word sounds absurd. "Emma, no. I'm not angry. I'm—" What am I? Shocked, definitely. Scared, absolutely. But angry? "I'm concerned. About you. About how you're doing with this."
She pulls one hand free to swipe at her face. "I'm terrified. I'm trying to build a business and putting all my energy into that, I live in an apartment the size of a closet, I wait tables to pay mybills and my father is going to disown me when he finds out. So I'm doing great."
The bitter humor in her voice makes my stomach twist. This is what she's been dealing with. Alone, for three days, while I've been in my office closing property deals and thinking the biggest problem in my life was Victoria's interference.
"You're not alone anymore," I say quietly. "Whatever you need—support, resources, help with your business—I'm here."
The moment the words leave my mouth, I see her face change. The vulnerability shuttering, walls going up. Shit.
"I don't need you to fix this for me," she says, looking away. "I can handle it."
"I know you can." I choose my words carefully, navigating terrain I can already feel turning treacherous. "But you don't have to handle it alone. This is my responsibility too."
"Responsibility." She pulls her other hand free, and I feel the loss of contact like a physical ache. "Right. Because I'm a problem that needs to be solved."
"That's not what I meant?—"
She's leaning back now, putting distance between us. "I don’t need you to go into fix-it mode. Offering resources and support and help with my business like—like this is a deal you need to negotiate."
Frustration sparks in me. "What do you want me to say, Emma? That I'll walk away? Pretend this isn't happening? I can't do that."
"I want you to—" She stops, pressing her fingers to her temples. "I don't know. I don't know what I want. I just know that I can't let you take over my life the way my father took over my mother's."
And there it is. The core of her fear, laid bare.
I sit back, forcing myself to take a breath. To think instead of react. "I'm not trying to take over your life. I'm trying to be a partner in this."
"A partner with unlimited resources and the ability to solve every problem with a phone call." Her laugh is sharp. "That's not a partnership. That's a rescue operation, and I don't want to be rescued."
The server chooses that moment to appear, asking if we’d like to order dinner. I quickly wave her away. When I look back at Emma, she's staring at her water glass, her jaw tight.
"What do you want from me?" The question comes out quieter than I intend. "Tell me what you need, and I'll do it. But don't ask me to pretend I don't care about what happens to you and this baby."
"I need—" Her voice cracks. She takes a breath, tries again. "I need time to think. To figure out how to do this without losing everything I've worked for."
"Okay." I lean forward again, lowering my voice. "Take the time you need. But Emma, you need to understand something. I'm not going anywhere. This baby is mine, and I'm going to be involved in its life. That's not negotiable."
She looks up at me, and there's something in her expression that I can't quite read. Fear, yes. But also something that looks almost like hope. Like part of her wants to believe I mean it.
"You say that now," she says softly. "But when this gets messy—when my father explodes and your ex-wife finds out and everyone in both our lives has an opinion—you might change your mind."
"I won't."
"You don't know that."
