Chapter 8
Outside, the sun was shining.
I grabbed my laptop and headed to the conference room for the new project kickoff. The meeting went smoothly, and I felt that familiar satisfaction of being in control of my own destiny.
My phone rang just as I was reviewing quarterly reports. Mom’s name flashed on the screen.
“Emily, honey.” Her voice sounded strange-tight, almost guilty.
“Mom? Is everything okay?”
“I need to tell you something, and I didn’t want you to hear it from someone else.” She took a shaky breath. “Your father and I are getting divorced.”
The words hit me like ice water. “What? Mom, you guys were fine when I visited last Christmas. You were talking about renovating the kitchen-”
“Things change, Emily. People change.” Her voice grew sharper. “I’ve met someone else. Richard Swinton. We’re getting married next month.”
Swinton. I knew that name from business circles-old money, influential family.
‘Mom, this is so sudden-”
‘It’s not sudden. It’s been building for years. Your father never provided the way Richard can. He never inderstood what I needed.” Her tone became almost defensive. “Richard has a daughter, Bella. She’s accomplished, successful in jewelry design. You’ll like her.”
What about Dad? How is he handling this?”
Oh, you know your father. Always the victim.” The coldness in her voice shocked me. “He’ll be fine. He’s got is pride to keep him warm.”
After hanging up, I stared at my phone in disbelief. My parents had been married twenty-five years. They’d seemed happy, stable-the one relationship that made me believe love could last.
Three weeks later, I flew back to New York for Mom’s wedding. The ceremony was elegant, expensive, everything Dad could never have afforded. Richard Swinton was distinguished, silver-haired, exactly the kind of man who belonged at country clubs.
Bella Swinton was stunning-mid-twenties, polished, with the kind of confidence that came from never wanting for anything.
“Emily!” Mom rushed over, beaming in her designer dress. “Come meet Richard and Bella.”
Richard’s handshake was firm, assessing. “Emily, your mother talks about you constantly. The successful daughter in Miami.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” I managed.
Bella smiled sweetly. “I’ve heard so much about your work. Mom says you’re brilliant.” The way she said Mom’ made my stomach clench.
Later, as I watched Mom laugh at Richard’s stories, hanging on his every word, I realized I was seeing a version of her I’d never known existed.
‘She seems happy,” I said to Dad when I visited him in his small apartment afterward.
Dad looked tired, older than his fifty-eight years. “She deserves to be happy, Emmy. I just… I thought we were happy together.”
Dad-”
It’s okay, sweetheart. Maybe Richard can give her things I never could.” He smiled sadly. “Don’t look so vorried. Your old man will be fine.”
But I wasn’t fine. Flying back to Miami, I felt something fundamental shift inside me. If my parents’ narriage-the one relationship I’d thought was solid-could crumble, what did that say about love? About
rust?
threw myself into work, but the emptiness followed me home each night. Then I met Hugo Roberts at a networking event two months later.
He was magnetic-tall, confident, successful. Everything Daniel had been, but without the coldness.
You look like you need a drink,” he said, appearing at my elbow during a particularly boring presentation
bout market trends.
I need several drinks.”
He laughed. “Rough day or rough life?”
Both.”
We ended up talking for three hours. Hugo was charming, funny, and refreshingly direct. When he asked for ny number, I hesitated.
‘I’m not really dating anyone right now,” I said honestly. “I’m kind of done with all that.”
“All what?”
“Love. Relationships. The whole messy business of trusting someone else with your heart.”
Hugo studied me with those dark eyes. “Someone really hurt you.”
“Someone always hurts someone. That’s how it works.”
“Not always.” His voice was gentle. “Emily, would you let me take you to dinner? No pressure, no expectations. Just two people sharing a meal.”
Against my better judgment, I said yes.
Hugo was persistent in the best possible way. He didn’t push, didn’t demand answers about my past. He just showed up-consistently, reliably, with flowers and patience and genuine interest in my thoughts about everything from work to books to why I preferred tea over coffee.
‘I care about you,” he said one evening as we walked along the beach. “More than I’ve cared about anyone in a long time.”
‘Hugo, I’m not sure I’m capable of-”
‘I’m not asking you to be sure about anything. I’m just asking you to give this a chance. Give us a chance.”
Looking at him in the moonlight, seeing the sincerity in his eyes, I felt something crack open in my chest. Maybe I was ready to try again. Maybe love didn’t have to end in betrayal.
‘Okay,” I whispered. “Let’s try.”
