Chapter 89 The Day Before Everything Changed
Zoey sat cross-legged on the stained carpet, the only light in the room coming from the bluish glow of the projector. The wedding video played on loop. Henry's smile—broad, genuine—beamed across the screen like a slap to the face. He looked radiant. In love.
With her.
Emilia.
The scent of old popcorn lingered in the air, mixing with something sour—days-old takeout she hadn't touched. Her fingernails scraped at her bare ankle, red lines crisscrossing her skin.
Zoey's jaw clenched as she watched Emilia toss her head back in laughter, her hand resting protectively on her very-pregnant belly as guests cheered. Henry stood behind her, arms wrapped around her waist, whispering something in her ear.
She hit pause.
The screen froze on Emilia's face. That effortless smile. That glow.
Zoey leaned forward and traced the curve of Henry's face with her fingertip, leaving a smudge on the screen. "You were supposed to look at me like that," she whispered, voice trembling. "You did look at me like that. Once."
Then, quieter: "Didn't you?"
She clicked rewind. The screen skipped back—Emilia walking down the aisle, guests rising to their feet. Henry turning, catching sight of her in her gown. That breathless moment. The tear in his eye.
"Stop smiling," Zoey snapped. "Stop looking at her like that!"
She hurled a pillow at the projector, knocking it slightly off-center. The image skewed, Emilia's face warping into something grotesque.
Zoey stared at it, her breath catching. A smile flickered at the corners of her lips.
"That's better," she muttered.
Behind her, the door creaked. Ethan stepped in, holding two mugs.
"You've been watching that thing for hours," he said carefully. "It's not healthy."
Zoey didn't look at him. "She took my life, Ethan."
Ethan hesitated, watching her, then set the mugs down. "Then let's take it back."
She turned slowly; her eyes dark with something far more dangerous than heartbreak.
"Soon," she said, almost smiling. "Very soon."
___________________________________________________
March – 9 Months Pregnant
Due any day now
The living room looked like a battlefield. A battlefield made entirely of wooden crib parts, foam padding, and a 27-page instruction manual that might as well have been written in hieroglyphics.
Henry stood in the center of it all, sleeves rolled up, drill in one hand, smugness in the other.
"I've built empires," he declared. "I've negotiated million-dollar contracts. I can handle this."
Emilia, gloriously pregnant and lounging nearby on the couch with a foot bath and a bowl of grapes like the goddess she was, popped one into her mouth. "You also once got stuck in a revolving door for four minutes."
"That was sabotage," he said quickly. "And I maintain that door was spinning at an illegal velocity."
She laughed. "Alright, Mr. CEO. Impress me."
He clapped his hands once. "Okay. Step one. Assemble base support A into slot B using... wait, is this... French?"
"No," Emilia said, scrolling her phone. "You're just upside-down."
Henry turned the manual right-side up. "Aha. Okay. We're back on track."
Thirty-five minutes and one extremely concerning CRACK later...
"Babe," Emilia said gently, "are you... bleeding?"
"No," Henry replied way too fast, hiding his finger behind his back.
"Are you lying?"
"Moderately."
He stared at the wooden mess in front of him. The crib currently had three legs, two headboards, and one completely rogue wheel that had somehow made its way into the fruit bowl.
"I think this might be abstract art," he mumbled.
Emilia bit her lip to stifle a laugh. "It's giving... modern interpretive parenting."
Henry sighed and plopped down next to her, holding up the screwdriver like a white flag. "Okay. You win. The crib wins. The baby wins. Everyone wins except me."
"Aw, honey," she cooed, leaning over to kiss his cheek. "You know you could've just waited for Cayden. He built Jason's entire media wall in twenty minutes."
Henry narrowed his eyes. "I will not be outdone by a man who says bro every three sentences."
Emilia grinned. "But babe. He says it with charisma."
Henry gasped. "How dare you cheat on me in my own home with someone who can use an Allen wrench."
Just then, the crib let out an ominous creak all on its own. Both of them stared at it in silence.
"...Did it just move?" Emilia whispered.
Henry stood. "I'm calling Cayden."
She reached for another grape. "Tell him to bring snacks."
_________________________________________________________
The smell of blueberry muffins wafted through the kitchen like a hug. Sunlight poured in through the windows, warming the countertops, and somewhere, someone (probably Roxanne) had started a playlist called Baby's First Kitchen Dance Party.
In the middle of it all, Emilia—nine months pregnant and stubbornly independent—was on her tiptoes, reaching for the jar of honey on the top shelf like she had something to prove.
Henry entered the scene like a rom-com husband with a sixth sense for danger.
"Em," he said, already sounding exhausted in that married-for-six-months-and-in-love-like-day-one tone. This book is available exclusively and for free on Wattpad. If you find it anywhere else, it has been stolen. Please report any unauthorized copies. "What did we say about climbing cabinets like a mountain goat?"
"I'm not climbing," she replied without looking back, stretching harder. "I'm reaching. It's called prenatal yoga. You wouldn't understand."
He blinked. "Reaching becomes climbing. Climbing becomes falling. Falling becomes me dying. Do you want me to die, Emilia?"
She turned just enough to give him the look. "Oh my God. You're so dramatic."
"Correct," he said, plucking the honey jar from the shelf and handing it to her with a kiss to the temple. "I'm dramatic. But also alive. Let's keep it that way."
She rolled her eyes, but kissed his cheek anyway, whispering, "Thanks, honey," before giggling at her own joke.
He groaned. "You've been hanging out with me too long."
"Worst vows I ever made," she teased.
Across the room, Lily sat cross-legged at the kitchen island, scrolling endlessly through baby name apps. "Okay, we've vetoed two hundred and thirty-seven names. Are you telling me none of them screamed, 'This child will rule the playground'?"
Roxanne, sipping tea with unnecessary elegance, chimed in: "I still think 'Sparkle' is ahead of her time."
Jason, mouth full of muffin, muttered, "Sparkle Kingsley sounds like a Pomeranian that sells out world tours."
"I'd go to that concert," Beau added, dragging a blueberry across a fruit platter like it was a chess piece. "She opens for Glitter McFluff."
Yanique laughed, slicing watermelon with precision. "You guys are naming a child, not a drag queen."
"Why not both?" Emilia shrugged. "Let her live her truth."
Henry slid onto a stool beside her, hand casually resting on her belly. "Okay but hear me out—what about 'Danger'? Middle name Is My Business."
"Henry," Emilia deadpanned.
"Come on! Danger Kingsley? She'll never have to fight for a job interview."
"Or a job as a stunt double," Cayden quipped from the other side of the room. He was mid-discussion with Beau about motion sensors and retinal scanners but apparently couldn't resist the chaos.
Henry turned to him. "If my daughter wants to be a spy, I will support her unconditionally and emotionally spiral about it in private."
Emilia snorted. "You're already spiraling about the fact she exists."
"I just love her so much," he fake-sobbed, laying his head dramatically on her bump. "Even though she's already using my bladder as a trampoline."
"Join the club," Emilia muttered.
Everything was warm and loud and ridiculous. Muffins disappeared. The baby kicked when the playlist shifted to Beyoncé. Jason tried to sneak a second muffin and got smacked with a wooden spoon by Yanique. Beau made everyone guess the baby's sign even though she hadn't been born yet. Roxanne googled "how to legally name a baby Sparkle."
And Henry, ever the smitten fool, stole another kiss from Emilia when she leaned over to refill her tea.
"I still can't believe you married me," he murmured against her temple.
She smiled; eyes soft. "You asked nicely. With snacks."
"I sealed the deal with a muffin."
"You sealed it with a kiss and a 401k, Kingsley. Very hot."
Their foreheads touched for a moment—just them, just quiet—before Roxanne yelled across the kitchen:
"Okay, but seriously, Sparkle Danger Kingsley sounds like a Bond villain, and I'm obsessed."
From across the room, Jason made a very loud gagging noise. "Ugh, can you two save the flirting for literally any room I'm not in?"
"I'm taking notes, bro," Beau added, nodding thoughtfully. "Snacks, kisses, and a retirement plan. That's the trifecta."
Roxanne raised her mug. "To be fair, I also would marry Henry for muffins and health insurance."
Emilia winked. "Get in line."
Henry stood and did a slow 360. "Sorry, ladies. I'm fully booked. This muffin comes with a forever plan."
Cayden walked in mid-spin and paused. "...Did I miss something or is this just Tuesday now?"
Yanique didn't even look up from the fruit platter. "This is love, baby. Let 'em have their weird muffin moment."
_______________________________________________
The sun had begun to dip, casting a golden haze across the driveway as, one by one, the cars pulled away.
Jason honked twice as he drove off, Lily waving from the passenger seat with a mouthful of leftover fruit salad. Roxanne blew a kiss from her window and yelled something about baby karaoke next week. Beau lingered to double-check the security system with Cayden, while Yanique slipped Emilia another muffin "for emergencies only."
Soon, the driveway was empty again—quiet, peaceful.
A light breeze stirred the trees. Somewhere down the block, a dog barked. Then—nothing.
Too quiet.
Emilia leaned her head on Henry's shoulder as they stood by the front door, watching the last taillights fade into the curve of the street. His arm wrapped instinctively around her, hand resting protectively on her stomach.
"Feels good," she murmured. "Having everyone here."
Henry kissed the top of her head. "Feels safe."
Neither of them saw the parked car down the block.
Inside it, Ethan adjusted the binoculars, watching the couple framed in the doorway. He clicked the pen in his hand—on, off, on, off—every flick syncing with Emilia's movements, like he was taking mental timestamps of her existence.
"Back door's used the least," he murmured, more to himself than anyone else. "Security cameras only hit the west side. Front's too public. Garage... maybe."
In the passenger seat, Zoey was painting on lipstick like armor—steady, precise, cold. Her compact mirror caught the dying sunlight and flared once, briefly, like a signal.
"You ready?" Ethan asked, lowering the binoculars.
Zoey snapped the mirror shut with a click that sounded louder than it should have. Her gaze didn't waver from the house.
"I've never been more ready."
Her smile didn't reach her eyes.
And as night crept in, the street went still.
Too still.