Chapter twenty-three
Emma
The walls of Stella’s guest room feel like they’re closing in. Three days. Three days of trying to pretend I’m fine. Three days of waking up with swollen eyes, forcing myself to eat whatever Stella puts in front of me, and swallowing back the ache that threatens to spill over every time I think about him.
I was so stupid. So unbelievably stupid. I should’ve known better. I should’ve protected myself from the start. He never promised me anything. He never once said this was real. That we were real.
I let myself believe in something that was never there. I stare at the ceiling, my fingers gripping the blanket tight as I try to ignore the lump in my throat.
I had been so relieved when the calls from the debt collectors stopped, thinking maybe they felt sorry for me. Silly me, they are all ruthless. So why would they have pitied me out of the blue? I was finally happy to be catching a break that I didn't think much of it.
Turns out, the break had come from Bryan. Bryan.
The man who had looked me in the eyes, touched me like I was his, kissed me like he meant it, all while knowing I was just a project to him. Because to him, that’s all I was. A problem to fix. A mistake he wouldn’t make again.
I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to push back the fresh wave of pain that hits me square in the chest. I should be grateful, right? My debts are gone. I don’t have to worry anymore. But I would rather owe every cent to the devil himself than know Bryan cleared them out of pity.
A knock at the door pulls me from my thoughts. I don’t even need to look up to know it’s Stella. She’s been hovering, watching me like I’m going to shatter at any second. I drag in a breath and sit up as she pokes her head inside.
“Hey,” she says gently, stepping in and closing the door behind her. “How’re you doing?”
I let out a hollow laugh. “Like I just got punched in the chest. Repeatedly.”
She sighs, crossing the room and flopping down on the bed beside me. “Yeah…figured.”
Silence stretches between us. She waits, probably hoping I’ll break down and spill everything, but I can’t.
I won’t. Finally, she nudges my arm. “Listen, I know you’re hurting, but you need to go get your other things.”
I shake my head immediately. “I can’t.”
“Emma.”
“No, seriously, I can’t. I can’t walk back into that house and…” My voice wobbles. “And see everything we had. I just…I can’t.”
Stella lets out a breath and grabs my hand, squeezing it. “I get it. I do. But you’re gonna need to face it at some point. You need to rest of your stuff, and if it helps, I’ll go with you.”
I bite my lip, my chest tightening. I don’t want to go back. I don’t want to step into that house and see the life I thought we were building together, only to be reminded that it was all built on lies.
But what choice do I have? I can’t hide here forever. I exhale slowly, pressing my fingers to my temples. “Fine,” I murmur. “But only if you come with me.” Stella grins. “Obviously.”
I nod, trying to steady myself, but my heart is already racing. Because whether I’m ready or not, I’m about to walk back into his world.
And I don’t know if I’ll survive it.
***
I shouldn't be this uneasy. It’s just a house. Just walls and floors and memories I’m going to shove into a box and leave behind. I should be eager to get this over with, to walk in, grab my things, and never step foot here again.
But as Stella practically bounces beside me in the passenger seat, something gnaws at my gut.
She’s too excited. I shoot her a glance. “You’re awfully cheerful for someone about to help me pack up my shattered hopes and dreams.”
She blinks, feigning innocence. “What? I can’t be excited to see the house one last time?”
I narrow my eyes. “No, because you hate packing. You once paid a teenager in snacks to move your stuff when you switched apartments.”
Stella presses her lips together like she’s trying very hard not to laugh. “Okay, first, that kid was entrepreneurial. And second, I just want to see the garden one last time.”
I let out a sharp sigh, shaking my head. “Stella, I just want to get this over with.”
She pouts dramatically. “Come on, Em, it’ll take two seconds. Just a quick peek, then you can doom-walk through the house all you want.”
I groan, rubbing my forehead. “Fine. Two seconds.” She beams. “Perfect.”
We pull into the driveway, and my stomach tightens as I stare at the house. The past few weeks play in my mind like a cruel highlight reel, laughter in the kitchen, lazy mornings on the swing, him kissing me under the stars.
I force myself to look away. That’s not my life anymore. I step out, my fingers twitching as I brace myself. But before I can head for the front door, Stella grabs my arm. “Garden first.” She tugs me toward the side path, practically dragging me along.
I huff. “You are way too invested in flowers.”
She just hums, but there's something in her eyes. Anticipation? And that gnawing feeling in my gut twists harder.
I round the corner then freeze. My breath stutters. The garden is glowing.
Fairy lights wind through the trees, casting soft golden halos over the freshly trimmed hedges and carefully arranged flowers. Roses, daisies, violets, all in full bloom, their petals catching the light. A gentle summer breeze carries their scents, and the sight knocks the air from my lungs.
And then… Bryan.
Standing in the middle of it all, hands in his pockets, looking at me like I’m the only thing that’s ever mattered. Buddy sits at his feet, wagging his tail happily, like he’s in on this too.
I whirl to Stella, except she’s gone. Of course she is. This was never about the garden.
I swallow hard, pulse hammering as I look back at Bryan. My voice barely scrapes out. “What is this?”
He takes a slow step forward, the golden light catching the soft edges of his face. He looks nervous. Nervous. Bryan never does nervous.
“This is me making things right.”
I cross my arms over my chest, shoving down the way my heart aches at the sight of him. “You can’t fix this with lights and flowers.”
His jaw tightens. “I know.” He steps closer. “But I can try.”
I exhale sharply, my emotions still raw. “Why, Bryan? Because you feel bad? Because I was your charity case, and you didn’t want to see me struggle?”
He flinches. “No. Please stop that.” His voice is rough, almost desperate. “You were never a pity project, Em.”
Tears sting my eyes, but I shake my head. “Then why?”
He doesn’t hesitate.
“Because I love you.”
The words punch through me. My breath catches, my world tilting as he moves even closer, his hands curling into fists like he’s afraid I’ll run.
“I love you,” he repeats, voice steady now. “I have from the moment you walked back into this house. Maybe I never stopped loving you. But I was scared, scared of losing you again, scared that if I let myself fall, you’d leave, and I wouldn’t survive it a second time.”
He exhales sharply, his gaze locking onto mine, raw, open, unguarded. “So yeah, I did things wrong. But none of it, none of it was because I pitied you. I just…” He drags a hand through his hair. “I just wanted to take care of you. The way I should’ve back then. I wanted to love you. I wanted us to work again.”
Tears spill over before I can stop them. My throat is so tight I can barely breathe. “You should’ve told me.”
“I know.” He steps closer, his voice dropping, pleading. “I should’ve done a lot of things differently. But I can’t change the past, Emma. All I can do is tell you the truth now.” He swallows.
“I don’t want this house without you. I don’t want anything without you. You’re my home, Emma, and I’ll spend every day proving to you that you were never…” His voice shakes, his eyes shining with something that wrecks me. “Never a mistake.”
I break. A sob slips out before I can stop it.
Because I thought this was all nothing to him. That I had meant nothing. But hearing this, seeing it on his face it destroys me.
I press my hands over my face, trying to breathe, trying to absorb it.
His hands cup my face, gentle, trembling. “Stay,” he whispers. “Please.”
I shatter. I launch myself at him, my arms locking around his neck as I kiss him.
It’s desperate and messy, a collision of pain and love and relief. His hands grip my waist, pulling me closer, like he never wants to let go.
I don’t think he will. I don’t think I will either. We break apart, breathing hard, foreheads pressed together.
Bryan brushes his thumb over my cheek, soft, reverent. “Say it,” he whispers. “If you still feel it, say it.”
My chest clenches. My heart pounds. I close my eyes, exhaling.
“I love you, Bryan. I'm sorry for leaving again, and for not fighting for us. I was scared because I had fallen in love with you and it maybe didn't mean anything to you,”
His breath shudders. “Oh, Emma. That's not true. The past few weeks have been the best of my life. And the past two days have been horrible for me.”
"Same here."
"I need you to promise me one thing."
"Whatever you want."
"I need you to always believe in us. Always fight for our love. I don't want you to ever give it up at a slightest chance.”
"I promise Bryan. I'm sorry and I’m telling you that I'll never give up on us again. I love you."
"I love you more."
And then he’s kissing me again, like he’ll never stop.
And I don't want him to.
Ever.