Chapter 2
Emma's POV
I shifted on the couch, the morning light felt harsh against my swollen eyes, my stomach still aching, and heard Ryan's footsteps approaching.
"Emma?" His voice carried that familiar note of guilt I'd heard ninety-seven times before. "Why didn't you come back to bed?"
I kept my eyes closed, pretending to still be not waking up. The truth was, I'd been awake for the past hour, replaying every moment of my ruined birthday in my mind.
"I fell asleep here," I mumbled, finally opening my eyes to see him standing there in his crisp white shirt and navy slacks. The same outfit he'd worn to leave me on my birthday. "My stomach was still hurting."
Ryan's face crumpled with what looked like genuine remorse. He sat down on the edge of the coffee table, reaching out like he wanted to touch me but stopping short.
"Babe, about last night... I'm really sorry. I know it was your birthday, and I know how much it meant to you." He ran his hand through his dark hair, a gesture I used to find endearing. "Let me make it up to you. Tonight, I'll take you to that French place in Beverly Hills, the one you love. We'll do it right this time."
That French place. The one where he'd proposed two years ago. The one where we'd celebrated our first anniversary before Sophia became a constant presence in our lives.
"You're not going to be busy with Sophia?" The words came out sharper than I intended, but I couldn't help it. The hurt was too fresh, too raw.
"She's stable now," Ryan said quickly. "Tonight belongs to us. I promise."
A promise. I wanted to laugh at how easily those words rolled off his tongue. How many promises had he made and broken? But looking at his face, seeing what seemed like genuine regret in his brown eyes, I felt that familiar flutter of hope in my chest.
Maybe this time will be different. Maybe he really means it.
"Okay," I heard myself saying. "Tonight."
Ryan's face lit up with relief. He leaned forward and kissed my forehead gently. "I love you, Emma. I'm going to make this right."
After he left, I sat in the silence of our apartment, staring at the remnants of last night's disaster. The melted candles were still on the dining table, waxy pools that had hardened into ugly lumps.
Maybe I was too harsh on him. Being a doctor is complicated, and Sophia's condition really is serious.
At 9 AM, I popped some painkillers and headed to work. I sat in my office, checking my phone every few minutes, not looking for messages from Ryan, just watching the time crawl by.
Six hours until I can leave. Seven hours until dinner.
"Emma, the Patterson meeting tomorrow morning—" my assistant Jake started to say.
"Actually, can we push that to the afternoon?" I interrupted, not looking up from my computer screen where I was definitely not shopping for a new dress online. "I have something important tonight."
Jake raised an eyebrow but nodded. "Sure thing. Everything okay?"
"Yeah," I said, and for once, I actually meant it. "Everything's going to be okay."
I spent my lunch break looking up the menu for Le Bernardin Beverly Hills, remembering how Ryan had ordered the lobster thermidor. How we'd shared the chocolate soufflé and he'd gotten sauce on his tie. How simple everything had been before Sophia.
Stop it, I told myself. Don't think about her. Tonight is about us.
At five PM sharp, I was walking through our front door, already planning what to wear. The blue dress Ryan loved was hanging in the closet, the one that made my eyes look brighter and my waist look smaller. I could almost picture his face when he saw me in it.
I was halfway through touching up my makeup when my phone rang.
Ryan's name flashed on the screen, and my stomach immediately clenched.
No. Not again. Please, not again.
"Hey," I answered, trying to keep my voice light.
"Emma, I'm so sorry, but I'm going to be a little late." His words came out in a rush, like he was trying to get them out before he lost his nerve. "Sophia just called, she's having chest pains again. I need to check on her at the hospital."
The mascara wand slipped from my fingers, clattering onto the bathroom counter.
"Ryan, this is the second night in a row."
"I know, I know, but this is a medical emergency. You understand that, right? I'll just make sure she's stable, and then I'll come straight home. We can still make our reservation."
Medical emergency. Those words that had become his shield, his excuse, his get-out-of-jail-free card.
"Ryan, yesterday was my birthday." My voice cracked on the last word. "My thirtieth birthday."
"And I said I was sorry about that. Look, this won't take long. Sophia's scared, and you know how her condition is. I can't just ignore her when she needs medical attention."
Sophia's scared. What about me? What about how scared I was last night when I thought my appendix might be bursting? What about how scared I am right now that this pattern will never end?
"How long?" I asked, though I already knew the answer would be a lie.
"An hour, maybe two. Keep the dress on, we're still going to dinner."
The line went dead, and I stared at my reflection in the bathroom mirror. The blue dress suddenly felt like a costume, like I was playing dress-up for an audience that would never show.
Seven o'clock came and went. Then eight. Then nine.
I sat on our couch, still in the blue dress, watching the sun set over Los Angeles through our living room window. The city lights began to twinkle below, millions of people going about their evening plans, meeting friends for dinner, celebrating birthdays that weren't forgotten, living lives where they weren't constantly competing with someone else for attention.
How did I get here?
The thought hit me suddenly, and with it came a flood of memories I'd been trying to suppress.