Two Broken Hearts
The next morning, the Prescott household felt slightly different.
Emery was in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, quietly loading the breakfast dishes into the dishwasher when Rebecca walked in. She stopped in the doorway, watching the young woman for a moment with a calculating expression.
“Emery,” Rebecca said, her voice still cool but noticeably less sharp than usual.
Emery straightened, wiping her hands on a towel. “Yes, Mrs. Prescott?”
Rebecca stepped further into the kitchen, her posture as elegant and commanding as ever. “You don’t need to do the housework anymore. Especially not the cleaning. The maids can handle that.”
Emery blinked, surprised. “But… I thought...”
“You’re carrying a Prescott child now,” Rebecca interrupted, though her tone lacked its usual biting edge. “There’s no need for you to be on your knees scrubbing floors like a servant. It’s not appropriate.”
Harper, who had been sipping coffee at the island, nearly choked. “Mom? Are you serious?”
Rebecca shot her daughter a warning look. “She can still cook. Everyone seems to like her food, and it keeps her occupied without overexerting herself.”
Harper slammed her mug down. “You’ve got to be kidding me. First Ivy drags her to the gala, now you’re giving her a free pass? She’s still the same girl who—”
“Enough, Harper,” Rebecca cut in firmly. “The situation has changed. There’s a baby involved. I won’t have people saying we’re mistreating the mother of our grandchild.”
Emery stood silently, absorbing the words. It wasn’t warmth. Rebecca’s voice still carried that cool detachment, but it was a shift. A small crack in the wall of disdain she had faced since the wedding.
Harper crossed her arms, fuming. “This is ridiculous. She’s not one of us. She never will be. Giving her special treatment just because she got knocked up doesn’t change that.”
Rebecca ignored her daughter and turned back to Emery. “You heard me. No more cleaning. Cooking is fine if you want to. The rest can be left to the staff.”
Emery nodded slowly, her stormy eyes guarded. “Thank you, Mrs. Prescott.”
Rebecca gave a curt nod and left the kitchen without another word.
Harper remained, glaring daggers at Emery. “Don’t think this means anything. I will never be okay with you. You’re still just the replacement who stole my brother’s future.”
Emery met her gaze steadily, though her voice stayed soft. “I didn’t steal anything, Harper. I was forced into this, just like everyone else.”
Harper scoffed and stormed out, leaving Emery alone in the kitchen with the half-loaded dishwasher.
She let out a long, shaky breath and placed a hand over her stomach. The small shift from Rebecca felt like both a relief and a reminder... she was no longer just the unwanted bride.
She was the mother of the Prescott heir.
And that changed everything… whether Harper liked it or not.
×××××××
The late afternoon sun filtered softly through the leaves as Emery sat alone in the gazebo at the far end of the Prescott garden.
A gentle breeze rustled the trees, carrying the faint scent of blooming roses. She held a glass of fresh orange juice that Rebecca had sent down with one of the maids... a small, silent gesture that still felt strange.
Emery’s hand rested lightly on her still-flat stomach, fingers tracing slow, gentle circles.
The light-blue sundress she wore fluttered around her legs as she leaned back against the wooden bench.
She spoke to her baby in a soft, barely audible whisper, voice full of quiet wonder and aching tenderness.
“Hey, little one…” she murmured, a small smile touching her lips despite the tears gathering in her stormy eyes. “It’s Mommy. I know things are complicated out here, but I want you to know… I already love you so much.”
She took a slow sip of the juice, the cool sweetness soothing her throat.
“You’re going to be so loved,” she continued, her voice cracking just a little. “Even if everything else is messy right now. I promise I’ll protect you. I’ll be the best mother I can be… no matter what.”
A single tear slipped down her rosy cheek. She brushed it away quickly, but more followed.
“I’m scared,” she admitted in a whisper, pressing her palm more firmly against her abdomen. “I don’t know how we’re going to do this. But every time I feel even a little sick or tired, I remember you’re in there… and it makes me happy. You’re the only thing that feels real and good in all of this.”
She let out a shaky breath, looking up at the sky through the gazebo’s lattice roof.
“Please be healthy and strong, okay? And when you come out… I hope you're courageous. I hope you can stand up for your mother and fight for her and don't feel ashamed of showing me to the world.”
Emery closed her eyes, letting the tears fall freely now as she rocked gently on the bench, one hand never leaving her stomach.
In the quiet sanctuary of the garden, it was just her and her baby, a small pocket of love in the middle of a life that had become unrecognizable.
×××××××
Francesca arrived for dinner looking every bit the perfect Prescott match... elegant black dress, perfectly styled hair, and a confident smile that never quite reached her eyes.
Rebecca greeted her warmly at the door, treating her like the daughter-in-law she clearly wished she had.
At the dining table, Rebecca made sure the seating was exactly as she wanted. She placed Francesca directly beside Jesse, while Emery sat across from them, next to Alexander.
Jesse was visibly uncomfortable. He kept his body angled slightly away from Francesca, jaw tight, fingers drumming once on the table before he forced them still.
Every time she leaned in to speak to him or brushed her arm against his, he subtly shifted away, his dark eyes flickering with irritation he tried and failed to hide.
Emery kept her gaze lowered on her plate, but she felt every glance, every small movement across the table. She looked quietly beautiful, though the tension in her shoulders gave away how much this seating arrangement hurt.
Rebecca, ever the orchestrator, smiled across the table as the main course was served. “Francesca, darling, you and Jesse looked so wonderful together at the gala the other night. You really must go on a proper date soon. Spend some quality time together.”
Francesca lit up, placing her hand boldly on Jesse’s forearm. “I’d love that. Wouldn’t you, Jesse?”
Jesse’s jaw clenched so hard a muscle ticked. He didn’t answer.
Rebecca continued smoothly, undeterred. “Yes, it’s time to start thinking about next things.”
Jesse finally looked up, his voice low and edged with disbelief. “Next things?”
Rebecca met his gaze without flinching and nodded once, decisive. “Yes. Marriage.”
The word landed like a stone in still water. The entire table seemed to hold its breath.
Alexander remained quiet, observing everything with his usual calm detachment. Ivy, seated further down, shot her twin a sympathetic look but stayed silent.
Emery’s fork froze halfway to her mouth. She slowly lowered it, her eyes lifting to meet Jesse’s for the briefest second before she looked away again. Her hand instinctively moved under the table to rest on her stomach.
Francesca beamed, squeezing Jesse’s arm. “Marriage sounds wonderful. Don’t you think, Jesse?”
Jesse didn’t pull away this time, but his entire body radiated tension. He stared at his mother, voice dangerously quiet. “I decide who I marry, Mother. Not you.”
Rebecca simply arched an elegant brow. “We’ll see.”
The rest of the dinner continued in strained silence broken only by Francesca’s attempts at conversation and Rebecca’s pointed suggestions. Jesse barely touched his food. Emery ate even less, her appetite gone completely.
Across the table, two broken hearts sat only a few feet apart, one forced to endure unwanted touches, the other forced to watch in silence.
×××××××
It was late when Emery quietly made her way to Jesse's bedroom with a glass of warm milk on a small tray.
Alexander had already retired to their room upstairs, but she had noticed at dinner that Jesse barely touched his food. Old habits died hard. She still remembered how he liked warm milk with a touch of honey when he was stressed or hadn’t eaten properly.
She stopped in front of Jesse’s door, hesitated for a second, then knocked softly.
No answer.
She pushed the door open gently and stepped inside.
Jesse was lying on his stomach across the large bed, fully clothed except for his suit jacket, which lay discarded on the floor. His face was turned toward the pillow, eyes closed, dark hair messy.
Emery cleared her throat softly and placed the glass of milk on the nightstand beside the silver picture frame.
Jesse stirred. His eyes opened slowly, and when they focused on her, something raw and vulnerable flickered across his face.
“Emery?” he said, voice soft and hoarse.
“I brought milk,” she replied quietly, keeping her tone neutral. “You didn’t eat properly at dinner, so…”
Jesse pushed himself up into a sitting position, the movement slow, as if every part of him ached. His eyes never left her face.
“Emery…” His voice trembled now, weak and broken. “Can you please sit with me? Just for a little while?”
She stood still for a moment, fingers tightening around the edge of the tray. “Alexander is waiting for me upstairs.”
Jesse sat up straighter, his chin quivering, eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Please. Just for a while. I miss you…” His voice cracked. “You used to listen to me vent all night and console me. Emery… I miss that. I miss you.”
The raw vulnerability in his words hit her like a wave. She stared at him, at the man she had loved for three years, now looking so shattered and small on his own bed.
After a long, painful silence, Emery set the tray down and sat on the very edge of the bed, keeping as much distance as she could.
“Talk,” she said quietly.
Jesse let out a shaky breath and began to vent, words tumbling out like he had been holding them in for weeks.
“Mom won’t stop pushing Francesca on me.
She keeps arranging ‘dates’ and talking about marriage like it’s already decided.
I told her no, over and over, but she doesn’t listen.
She thinks Francesca is perfect, from the right family, everything I’m ‘supposed’ to want.
” His voice broke. “But I don’t want her.
I can’t even stand her touching me. Every time she gets close, I feel sick because… ”
He trailed off, tears slipping down his cheeks. His shoulders started to shake.
Emery sat motionless for a few seconds, then slowly opened her arms.
Jesse didn’t hesitate. He moved forward and wrapped his arms around her waist, burying his face against her shoulder. His body trembled as quiet, muffled sobs escaped him.
The hurt wasn’t really about Francesca.
It was always about Emery.
It was about the woman he loved being married to his brother. It was about watching her carry his niece or nephew. It was about the future he had destroyed with his own cowardice.
Emery sat very still at first, then her hand slowly came up to rest on the back of his head, fingers threading gently through his dark hair. She didn’t speak. She just let him hold her, let him cry against her shoulder, the warm milk forgotten on the nightstand.
For a few stolen minutes, in the dim light of his bedroom, the walls between them cracked just enough for the pain to breathe.
But both of them knew it couldn’t last.
Slowly, carefully, she pulled away.
Jesse’s arms tightened around her for a second, refusing to let go. “Emery… please,” he whispered. “Don’t leave. Just stay a little longer.”
She gently pried his hands from her waist, her eyes glistening with unshed tears as she stood up from the edge of the bed.
Jesse sat up straighter, eyes red-rimmed and desperate. His chin quivered as he reached for her hand one last time. “Emery, please. I’m begging you. I can’t breathe without you. Just… sit with me. Talk to me. Yell at me if you want. Anything. Just don’t walk away again.”
For a split second, her resolve wavered.
Then she stepped back, out of reach.
“Goodnight, Jesse,” she whispered.
She turned and walked toward the door without looking back.
“Emery!” Jesse’s voice broke behind her, raw and pleading. “Emery, please don’t go. I love you. I still love you. Don’t leave me like this.”
The door clicked shut behind her.
×××××××