When He Came for Me, Our Daughter Was Already Three

Emma's POV

The champagne glasses are catching the last rays of evening light, throwing golden reflections across the gallery floor. I'm arranging them on the bar counter, trying to make everything look perfect for tonight. My white cotton dress feels too simple for a celebration, but it's comfortable, and that's all that matters these days.

The gallery is quiet except for the muffled sounds of Frozen playing upstairs. Mia is probably sprawled on the couch with Mr. Hops, watching Elsa build her ice castle for the hundredth time. I smile at the thought.

"Lily! Lily!" Noah's voice breaks through my thoughts as he bounds down the stairs, nearly tripping over his own feet. His energy fills the space like a puppy that's had too much coffee.

I look up, amused. "What? You finally got yourself a girlfriend?"

His face goes red. He scratches the back of his head. "Not that. It's about my uncle! He's been dying to meet you. Says your work is incredible. Can I invite him tonight? One more person makes it better, right?"

I laugh, going back to wiping the wine glasses. "Sure, why not? It's not like I know any celebrities anyway."

Noah's grin widens. There's something mischievous in his eyes. "Trust me, you'll be surprised."

I nod absently, not really thinking about it. Another art enthusiast, probably. Portland has plenty of those. Noah pulls out his phone, fingers flying across the screen, barely containing his excitement.

Trust me, you'll be surprised.

Portland celebrities. How big could they really be? Probably some local artist who thinks they're hot shit because they got featured in the Mercury once. I've met enough of those types in the past four years.

The champagne bottle pops open with a sharp crack.

The sound hits me like a slap, and suddenly I'm somewhere else entirely.

Seven years ago. Another champagne bottle. Another celebration that never happened.

Los Angeles, 2016. The independent film set is cramped and chaotic, cables everywhere like tangled snakes. I'm raising my camera, adjusting focus for actor headshots. Then I see him through the viewfinder.

Those eyes.

Left eye, blue like the LA sky. Right eye, green like the ocean. I've never seen anything like them. Can't look away.

He's grinning at me, cocky and young. "Hey, photographer girl. What's your name?"

My face burns. I hide behind my camera. "Emma. Emma Whitmore."

The memory shifts. 2017 now. The apartment in Beverly Hills he rented for us, tucked away from everyone. Expensive and empty. He comes up behind me, wraps his arms around my waist, chin on my shoulder. His breath warm against my neck.

"Just give me some time to get established, okay? Then we'll go public. I promise, babe."

I turn to face him, searching. "How long?"

He kisses my forehead, soft. "Soon. I promise."

Soon. That word carried so much weight back then. I believed it. Gave up the Geographic internship for it. Quit the studio job for it. Started taking passport photos at a drugstore because he said he didn't want me working on sets with other actors.

I agreed not to get married yet because of the morality clause in his contract. I understood. I was patient. I was so fucking patient.

The memory darkens. Late 2018. The pregnancy test in my shaking hands, two pink lines staring back at me. I'm booking a table at our favorite restaurant, fingers trembling as I type out the text.

"Ethan, tonight 8pm, our place. I have amazing news! ❤️"

His reply comes fast. "Sorry babe, last minute audition. Rain check?"

I wait. Eight o'clock comes and goes. Nine. Ten. Eleven.

At 11:47 PM, my phone lights up with a celebrity gossip notification. The headline makes my stomach drop.

"Rising Star Ethan Carter spotted having candlelit dinner with producer's daughter at Malibu hotspot."

The photo loads slowly, like it's giving me time to prepare. But nothing prepares me for seeing him smile at her the exact same way he smiles at me. That tender look I thought belonged to us.

I leave the next morning before he wakes up. One note on the kitchen counter: "I'm tired. Goodbye."

The doorbell rings, snapping me back to the present.

My fingers are trembling around the champagne glass. I blink hard, forcing the tears back. That life is over. I'm Lily Carter now. I'm successful. I'm independent. I'm fine.

I wipe my hands on a kitchen towel and head to the door.

When I open it, the world tilts.

Ethan Carter is standing on my doorstep.

Seven years have carved him into something sharper. The boyish softness is gone, replaced by hard angles and broader shoulders. His suit is perfectly tailored, dark gray. His hair is styled back instead of falling over his forehead. He's taller than I remember, or maybe I just feel smaller.

But those eyes. Those impossible eyes are exactly the same.

"Good evening." His voice is deeper now, smoother. "You must be Lily Carter. I'm Ethan, Noah's uncle."

He extends his hand, smiling like we're strangers. Like he doesn't recognize me at all.

The champagne glass nearly slips from my grip. I clutch it tighter, knuckles white.

"Hi."

That's all I can manage. One word. My throat closes up.

His smile falters for just a second. Those mismatched eyes narrow, studying my face with an intensity that makes my skin burn. His lips part like he's about to say something, but then...

"Lily!" Noah appears behind him, oblivious to the tension. "This is the famous uncle I told you about! Ethan Carter, two-time Oscar winner!"

I turn away quickly, moving toward the bar. "I'll get another glass."

My hands are shaking so badly I have to set the bottle down.

Fuck. Why him? Why does it have to be him? Noah Carter. Of course. How did I never make the connection? How did I never ask about his family?

Behind me, I can feel Ethan's gaze on my back. It's the same way he used to look at me in the early days, like he's trying to memorize every detail. Like he's trying to figure out if I'm real.

Ethan's mind is racing. Emma. It's Emma. The hair is shorter, choppy around her shoulders instead of long. She's thinner, sharper somehow. But those eyes, that mouth, the way she holds herself. How could he possibly mistake her for anyone else? Seven years of staring at her photos every night before bed, and she thinks he wouldn't recognize her?

She's here. In Portland. Using a fake name. Why? What is she hiding from?

"By the way, where's Mia?" Noah asks cheerfully. "Let her come say hi!"

Every muscle in my body tenses. "She's watching Frozen. Don't bother her."

But Noah is already heading upstairs, ignoring my protest. I stand frozen at the bar counter, unable to move.

Noah reappears thirty seconds later with Mia in his arms. She's rubbing her eyes sleepily, still clutching Mr. Hops. Her pink princess dress is wrinkled from the couch.

Ethan goes completely still.

His eyes lock on the child in Noah's arms. Emma's child. Emma and Noah's child. The timeline clicks together in his head with brutal efficiency. The girl looks about three or four years old. Emma left him seven years ago. Which means she moved on fast. Really fast.

And the person she moved on with was his own nephew.

The jealousy hits him hard. It's irrational, he knows it's irrational, but it doesn't matter. Emma found someone else. She built a life with someone else. She had a child with someone else. While he spent seven years drowning in regret and searching for her, she was here. Happy. With Noah.

His chest feels like it's caving in.

"Uncle Ethan, hold Mia!" Noah says brightly, already passing the little girl over.

Ethan takes the child automatically, his arms moving without thought. "Hey there, little one."

My heart is trying to hammer its way out of my chest. He's holding her. He's holding our daughter.

But he doesn't know.