Emma’s POV

The morning sun peeked through my curtains, bathing the room in a soft, golden glow, it felt ironic, really, how peaceful the day seemed, given the storm brewing inside me.

I hadn’t slept much after yesterday’s confrontation with my parents. Every time I closed my eyes, their faces haunted me, dragging old wounds to the surface.

Jeff had texted me late last night, letting me know he’d arranged a meeting at the hotel where my parents were staying. A “neutral ground,” he called it, but the thought of sitting across from them again made my stomach churn.

I was already nursing my second cup of coffee when Jeff walked into the kitchen. His hair was slightly mussed, as if he’d run his hand through it one too many times, he looked at me carefully, as though gauging my mood.

“They’re staying at The Grand Regency.” He said, leaning against the counter.

I froze mid-sip, staring at him in disbelief, “You put them in The Grand Regency? Are you serious?”

He sighed, crossing his arms, “Yes Emma, I thought it would be better for everyone if they were comfortable.”

“Comfortable?” I repeated incredulously, “They don’t deserve comfort, Jeff. Do you know how cruel they were to me? Or did you conveniently forget that part?”

His jaw tightened, but his tone remained calm, “I haven’t forgotten anything Emma, I’m only trying to manage this situation without it spiraling further out of control.”

I slammed my mug down on the counter, the sharp clink echoing in the quiet room, “You’re being too nice to them. Why? What’s your angle? Are they up to something? Or do they have something over you?” 

“No angle,” he replied evenly, “I just think you deserve to have closure, even if they don’t deserve your forgiveness.”

I scoffed, shaking my head, “Closure? You think putting them in a five-star hotel and organizing a fancy meeting will magically fix everything?”

“It’s not about fixing,” he said, stepping closer, “It’s about giving you a chance to take back control, to say what you need to say without them holding all the power.”

His words hung in the air, and for a moment, I couldn’t respond.

Part of me hated that he was trying to make sense of this mess, and he really was trying, I hated that he was forcing me to confront feelings I’d buried for years, but another part of me, the part still desperate for validation, wondered if he was right.

“Fine,” I muttered, grabbing my coat, “Let’s just get this over with.”

We left the house in tense silence, the weight of the upcoming meeting hanging between us.

As we drove through the city, memories began to surface, unbidden and relentless. I tried to push them back, but they clawed their way into my mind, demanding to be heard.

^^^^^^^^

I was twenty-three, fresh out of college, and working at my first real job. I’d just gotten home from a long day at the office, exhausted but proud of the progress I was making in my career. My parents were waiting for me in the living room, their faces unreadable.

“Emma, sit down.” My father had said, his tone holding no room for argument.

“What’s going on?” I’d asked, already wary of the tension in the air.

My mother patted the couch beside her, but I stayed standing, crossing my arms, “Just tell me.” I said, my voice firmer than I felt.

My father cleared his throat, adjusting his tie as though preparing for a board meeting, “You’re getting married tomorrow.”

The words hit me like a freight train. I blinked at him, very sure I’d misheard him, “What?”

My mother placed a hand on my arm, her grip tight, “It’s all been arranged, sweetheart. The wedding is tomorrow evening.”

I took a step back, shaking my head, “No. Absolutely not. I’m not marrying anyone and certainly not someone I don’t even know.”

“Emma,” my father said sharply, his voice cutting through my protests, “You will do this. It’s not up for discussion.”

“Not up for discussion?” I repeated, my voice rising, “You can’t just decide something like this for me, I’m not a pawn in your games.”

“You’re being selfish,” he shot back, his expression hardening, “Do you have any idea how much I’ve sacrificed for this family? How many deals I’ve made to ensure you had the best education, the best opportunities?”

“This isn’t about me,” I snapped, “This is about you and your damn business deals.”

“It’s strategic,” he continued, ignoring my outburst, “If you marry Jeff Anderson, it secures a partnership that will benefit both families. This isn’t just about money Emma, it’s about legacy.”

“Legacy?” I spat, tears stinging my eyes, “You’re selling me off like property, and you dare call it legacy?”

My mother finally spoke, her voice trembling, “Emma, please. We’re doing this for you, Jeff is a good man, he’ll take care of you.”

“You don’t even know him!” I shouted, my chest heaving with anger.

“We’ve met him,” my father said, his tone dismissive, “He’s wealthy, successful, and comes from a respectable family. What more do you need?”

“How about love?” I countered, my voice breaking, “How about respect? How about a choice?”

My father’s face darkened, and he stepped closer, towering over me, “You’ll do this Emma, in fact, you are doing it and you’ll do it because it’s your duty to this family. End of discussion.”

Tears streamed down my face as I looked between the two of them, searching for any sign of compassion, of understanding. There was none.

Defeated, I sank onto the couch, my hands trembling, “Fine,” I whispered, “I’ll do it but don’t ever expect me to forgive you for this.”

My mother reached out to comfort me, but I pulled away, retreating to my room where I cried until there was nothing left.

^^^^^^^^

The loud honk of Jeff's car brought me back to reality and when I looked at my surroundings, I discovered we were already at the hotel. We stepped out of the car and Jeff handed the key over to the valet as we walked over to the restaurant. 

The restaurant was dimly lit, with warm tones of amber lighting reflecting off polished wood surfaces.

Soft music played in the background, but the sound barely registered over the storm of thoughts in my mind, Jeff sat across from me, studying me carefully. He always had a knack for reading me, even when I tried my best to mask my emotions.

“Are you okay?” He asked, his voice soft, yet grounding.

I scoffed, leaning back in my seat, “Define okay.”

He didn’t answer immediately, instead reaching out to cover my hand with his, “You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

“Oh, now I have a choice?” I said in a mocking tone. 

“Don't be like that Emma, you know you always have a choice.” He said with nothing but sincerity in his eyes. 

I stared at our hands, his warmth calming me even though my heart raced, “No, I have to do this. I just don’t know if I want to.”

Jeff gave a small nod, his thumb brushing over my knuckles, “That’s fair. It’s not easy, but you’re stronger than you think.”

I sighed, biting my lip, “I’m not sure how you can say that. Strong isn’t the word I’d use to describe someone who’s been reduced to this.”

His brow furrowed as he leaned forward, his voice firm, “Emma, don’t do that. Don’t belittle yourself, you’ve been through hell and back, and you’re still standing. That’s strength.”

I didn’t respond.

Instead, I stared at the untouched glass of water in front of me, tracing a bead of condensation with my finger. I wanted to believe him, but facing my parents felt more like walking into a battle I wasn’t equipped to fight.

The sound of the restaurant door opening caught my attention, and I turned instinctively.

My breath hitched as I saw them, Marianne and Greg, the people who had brought me into this world yet caused me more pain than anyone else ever could.

My mother’s gaze darted around nervously, while my father’s posture was stiff and unyielding, his expression unreadable.

“They’re here,” I murmured, my throat tightening.

Jeff followed my gaze, his jaw setting slightly, “Do you want me to get rid of them? I will if you ask.”

I almost laughed at the image of Jeff walking up to them and demanding they leave, “No,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt, “Let’s just get this over with.”

Jeff stood as they approached, his natural charisma making the interaction less awkward than it might have been, “Marianne, Greg,” he greeted, his tone polite but distant, “Thanks for meeting us.”

My mother offered a small, hesitant smile, while my father gave a curt nod. They looked at Jeff like he was an enigma, someone they couldn’t quite figure out but knew better than to underestimate.

“Emma,” my mother said softly, her voice trembling, “It’s good to see you.”

I didn’t respond, my arms crossing defensively over my chest. Jeff glanced at me, his expression unreadable, before he pulled out a chair for my mother, “Why don’t you sit down?”

They took their seats, and for a moment, silence engulfed us. I glanced at Jeff, silently pleading with him not to leave, but he gave me a small, reassuring smile that did little to ease my nerves.

“I’ll give you some space.” He said, standing.

“No.” I said quickly, panic rising in my chest, “Jeff, stay.”

He rested a hand on my shoulder, his touch grounding me, “You’ve got this Emma, I’ll be close by if you need me.”

Before I could argue further, he walked away, leaving me alone with the two people I least wanted to face.

The silence stretched on, awkward and suffocating. My mother fidgeted with her napkin, her eyes darting between me and the table. My father, predictably, sat stoic, his gaze fixed on some indeterminate point in the distance.

“So,” I said, my tone biting, “what exactly did you want to talk about? Or did you just come here to stare at me awkwardly?”

My mother flinched, her hands gripping the edge of the table. “Emma, I…” She trailed off, her voice barely audible.

I leaned back, crossing my arms, “If you don’t have anything to say, I’ll leave. I don’t have time to waste on more of your empty gestures.”

“Wait,” my mother said quickly, her voice cracking, “Please don’t go. I need to talk to you, we need to talk to you.”

I raised an eyebrow, unimpressed, “Funny. You didn’t think we needed to talk when you abandoned me.”

Tears welled in her eyes, and she looked down, her shoulders shaking slightly, “You’re right,” she whispered, “We failed you, Emma. I failed you.”

Her words caught me off guard, but I refused to let her see it, “You failed me?” I echoed, my tone dripping with bitterness, “That’s putting it lightly.”

“I know,” she said, her voice trembling, “I know I can’t take back what we did. The way we treated you, disrespecting you, dismissing your dreams, forcing you into that marriage, it was wrong. All of it was wrong.”

I stared at her, my emotions warring between anger and disbelief, “You’re only realizing that now? After all these years?”

She nodded, tears streaming down her face, “I was a coward Emma. I went along with what your father wanted because I thought it was the right thing to do for the family but in doing so, I hurt you, and I’ve regretted it every day since.”

I swallowed hard, my throat tight, “You abandoned me when I needed you most,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper, “Do you have any idea how that felt? To be sold off like a commodity and then left to fend for myself?”

My mother sobbed, her hands trembling as she reached out for mine, “I’m so sorry Emma. I know we can’t undo the damage we caused, but we want to try, please let us try.”

I looked at her outstretched hands, my chest tightening with a mix of emotions I couldn’t even begin to untangle, “And you?” I asked, turning to my father, “Do you have anything to say? Or are you just here for moral support?”

He met my gaze, his expression hard, “Your mother has said enough.”

I scoffed, shaking my head, “Of course. You can’t even take responsibility for your part in this, can you? Typical.”

“Emma,” my mother interjected, her voice pleading, “Please don’t let this turn into a fight, I know Greg and I made mistakes, but we’re here now because we want to make amends.”

I let out a bitter laugh, “Amends? You think showing up now, after all these years, is going to fix anything? Do you have any idea how much damage you’ve done?”

“I know,” she said, her tears falling freely, “I know we hurt you and I don’t expect you to forgive us overnight. I just want the chance to make things right, even if it takes the rest of my life.”

I stared at her, my heart aching despite my resolve to stay strong. A part of me wanted to lash out, to make her feel the pain I’d carried for so long but another part of me, a quieter part, wondered if maybe, just maybe, it was time to let some of that pain go.

“I don’t know if I can forgive you,” I said finally, my voice tight, “But I’m willing to try. That’s the best I can do right now.”

My mother let out a shaky breath, her relief evident on her face while my father didn’t say anything, but I noticed the slightest softening in his expression.

Then, as if the moment weren’t heavy enough, my mother spoke again, “Emma, there’s one more thing I need to ask.”

I braced myself, my stomach twisting, “What is it?”

She hesitated, her hands trembling, “I’d like to meet my grandchildren.”

The air seemed to leave my lungs, “What?”

“Please,” she said, her voice breaking, “I know it’s a lot to ask, but I want to meet them. I want to be a part of their lives, even if it’s just a small part, I need to make things right with them too.”

My instinct was to say no.

To protect my children from the people who had caused me so much pain but when I looked at my mother, I saw something I hadn’t seen before, genuine remorse.

I took a deep breath, the words catching in my throat, “Fine.” I said, forcing the word out.

Her eyes widened in surprise, “Really?”

“You can come to Jeff’s house tomorrow,” I said, my voice firm, “But don’t expect too much.”

“Thank you.” She said, her hands clasped together as if in prayer.

The rest of the meal passed in relative silence, the weight of our conversation hanging heavily over us. My mother occasionally tried to make small talk, but I wasn’t in the mood to humor her. My father, predictably, remained quiet, his presence more a shadow than anything else.

When the meal finally ended, I couldn’t get out of there fast enough. My mother hugged me as we parted, a tentative, fragile embrace that felt more like a question than a statement.

I didn’t hug her back. Not yet.

Tomorrow would be another test, and I wasn’t sure any of us were ready for it.