But I'm not okay. Nothing is okay.
My father just disowned me. Called the man I love a predator. Reduced everything Grant and I have built to a sordid affair born of manipulation and poor judgment.
And the worst part—the absolutely worst part—is that some small, terrible voice in the back of my mind is whispering that maybe he's right.
Maybe I am delusional. Maybe this is a mistake. Maybe I'm going to wake up in five years and realize I sacrificed my relationship with my parents for a man who was never going to stay.
"Don't." Grant's voice is fierce. "I can feel you spiraling. Don't let him win."
"He's right about some of it." My voice is broken. "The age gap, the complications, the?—"
"No." Grant pulls back, his hands framing my face, forcing me to look at him. "He's not right. He's hurt and pissed off and lashing out. But Emma, what we have—it's real. You know that."
Tears blur my vision.
His thumb gently brushes away my tears. "I'm so sorry. This is all my fault."
"It's not?—"
"It is." His voice cracks. “I shouldn’t have let this happen. I knew what the consequences would be.”
We sink to the couch together, Grant's arms wrapped around me as I fall apart.
Everything I was afraid of has come true.
And the man I love is holding me while I break apart, whispering promises neither of us knows if he can keep.
Chapter 19
Grant
Ihold Emma tighter as she continues to sob against my chest. The sound tears through me, a physical ache I can't soothe. Her entire body shakes with each breath, and I feel completely powerless. Twenty years of business deals, of solving impossible problems, and I have no solution for this.
The thought of David's face—the betrayal, the rage—makes me sick. I've known him for so long. We've traveled together, celebrated victories, mourned losses. And now it's over.
But it's Emma I'm worried about. The way she crumpled when he walked out. The devastation in her eyes.
"I can't believe he just—" She hiccups, unable to finish the sentence.
"I know, baby. I know." I stroke her hair, feeling the dampness of her tears soaking through my shirt. "Just breathe. We'll figure this out."
But how? The question echoes through my mind with no answer.
Minutes pass. Her sobs gradually quiet to shaky breaths, though her grip on my shirt remains desperate, like I'm the only thing keeping her from drowning.
My mind shifts to practical concerns. She's pregnant. Upset. Hasn't eaten in hours. Stress isn't good for her or the babies.
"Are you hungry?" I ask softly. "I could make you something. Or order in."
She pulls back slightly and looks at me. “I’m pretty sure I won’t be able to eat a thing.”
“But you need to, baby. You have to at least try.”
I gently press my lips to her forehead. "Come here," I murmur, easing her down onto the couch. I grab the throw pillow and place it behind her head, then pull the soft blanket from the back of the sofa and drape it over her legs.
"Just rest here for a minute," I say softly. "Let me see what I can find."
Her fingers catch mine as I start to pull away. "Grant?—"
