Chapter 32 The Perfect Illusion
THE PERFECT ILLUSION
EMERY
He’s everywhere. In every fucking corner of this house.
His scent lingers on the sheets, on the furniture, and in the closet.
Damon. Damon. Damon. I should burn it all down.
Set fire to every single thing he’s ever touched, ever sat on, ever stood beside.
I want to douse every square foot of this goddamn house in gasoline. Cleanse the home. Our home. Of him.
How am I expected to move on when he’s haunting me? He’s in my dreams. Every night, I see him. And when I wake up, he’s still here, mocking me, laughing at me, reminding me of what I lost.
What we lost.
We could move. Quinton wouldn’t mind. He’d do anything to lessen my pain.
His pain. Because he’s hurt as well. He puts on a fantastic performance, almost believable, but the wound that had healed, that had been sewn together by mutual respect and honesty, has split back open, and now he’s gushing blood all over the Damon-stained carpets.
My gaze flits across the mural Damon painted as I stand in the middle of the nursery. It took him hours. An entire week. He stood there, meticulously sketching and drawing and shading. He wanted it to be perfect. And it is…from afar.
Standing ten feet back, the image is pristine. The lines are straight, crisp, and beautiful. But as I get closer, I see the imperfections. I see the mistakes, the errors, spots where he couldn’t quite get it right.
But it doesn’t matter. Because nothing is ever perfect.
If I look at the whole picture, it’s breathtaking.
I don’t care about the jagged lines, the accidental blotches of mismatched paint, the fact that the zebra’s eyes are two different sizes.
None of that matters. The mistakes don’t ruin the mural.
The mistakes are what make it unique. Special.
If only he could see that. If only he could’ve stepped back and seen what was before him. A future. Not perfect. But breathtaking.
I sigh, giving our broken future one last glance.
If only.
Picking up an empty moving box, I start toward the bedroom. As much as I want to incinerate every inch of this house, I can’t. I can’t leave behind the evidence of his hope, evidence that he once saw a glimmer of what could have been.
“Are you sure you want to do this now?” Quin appears at the threshold of our bedroom. He leans against the doorframe, a melancholy smile gracing his features as his gaze floats across the various boxes on the floor. “This can wait, darling. Maybe when we come back, we can—”
“No.” I drop to my knees, opening another one of Damon’s drawers. Hesitation clenches my muscles as I stare down at his clothes. “I can’t keep living like this. He’s everywhere, Quin. And he’s not coming back. What’s the point of keeping all his things? It’s just taking up space.”
Quin tentatively joins me on the rug. Memories flood my mind. This room was once a haven, a safe space full of love and devotion. It was where we slept. Where we felt comfort and security. Now it’s tainted. Ruined by shattered dreams and selfishness.
“What did she look like?” I ask, my heart fracturing as I place a pair of his socks into the cardboard box. “The woman you saw. I-I wonder if it’s the same one—”
“Emery, please.” Quin rests his hand on mine, so gentle and concerned.
I refuse to look up at him. I refuse to let him see the agony in my eyes.
“I need to know, Quin. I need to know if it’s the same woman.” My voice breaks, and I can feel the tears threatening to spill over.
Quin’s grip tightens on my hand, his thumb gently stroking my skin. “She had dark curly hair, about shoulder length. She…” His jaw clenches. “Emery, please. It-It doesn’t matter. It won’t help.”
I nod, swallowing hard. “I know. I just... I can’t help but wonder.”
We sit there in silence for a moment longer before Quin speaks again. “Why don’t you let me finish this? You should take a break. Rest a little, darling. The car will be here in a few hours to take us to the airport.”
I shake my head, the stubbornness in me refusing to back down. “No, I need to do this. I need to get rid of his things, Quin. It’s the only way I can move on.”
Quin sighs, his hand lingering on my shoulder for a moment before he stands. “Alright, but let me help.”
We continue packing in silence, each of us lost in our own thoughts. As I place Damon’s belongings into the boxes, a numbness starts to settle over me.
I pick up one of Damon’s favorite sweaters, the one he always wore on lazy Sunday mornings.
I remember how he used to wrap me in it, how his warmth and scent enveloped me.
My hands tremble as I fold it neatly and place it in the box.
Tears blur my vision, but I blink them away, determined to see this through.
After what feels like an eternity, the boxes are filled, and the room looks emptier, less like a home and more like a shell. I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself.
“I’m going to get his brushes. I think I left them in the…”
He nods, understanding. “I’ll be here.”
When I reach the nursery, I pause, my heart aching as I step inside. How is it possible to love and hate something with the same degree of passion? I hate this fucking room. I hate it.
But God…
A vision overwhelms me as I stand surrounded by the remnants of a future that will never come.
The room transforms before me, filling with light and warmth. Damon stands in the center of the room, cradling our baby in his arms, his face lit up with pure unadulterated joy. It’s a sight that takes my breath away.
Damon’s eyes meet mine, sparkling with pride. He’s beaming, his smile wide and genuine. The baby coos softly, snuggling against Damon’s chest. The love is palpable, so strong that it fills every corner of by body. So strong that it wraps around my broken heart.
Beside him, Quin shakes a rattle toy, grinning. The baby giggles. Such a sweet, melodic sound. Quin laughs. Light and airy. Happy. We’re all so damn happy.
I step closer into the room, my heart swelling as I look down at my two men and the baby boy we’ve created together.
“Look at him, Emery,” Damon says softly. “He’s perfect.”
Perfect.
I nod, unable to speak past the lump in my throat. Our baby boy, with his chubby cheeks and tiny hands, is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. He reaches out, his fingers brushing against the rattle in Quin’s hand.
Quin looks up at me. “We did good, didn’t we? We made something perfect.”
Perfect.
“Yes,” I whisper, my voice cracking. “We did.”
The baby’s tiny hand grabs the rattle, shaking it clumsily. Damon and Quin watch him. So pure and innocent. Happy. We all look so fucking happy. It could’ve been perfect.
Perfect.
It could’ve been—
The vision fades, and a sharp, agonizing pain erupts in my abdomen.
I cry out, clutch my stomach, and drop to my knees.
“Quin!” I scream, my vision blurring. “Quinton!”
He’s at my side in an instant, his face pale. “Emery, what is it? What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know,” I gasp, my insides churning and twisting. “Something’s wrong. The baby…”
He doesn’t hesitate. Like a cadet, like a soldier with years of training, Quin scoops me up in his arms. “We need to get to the hospital.” His grip around my aching body is ironclad, his breathing even and calm as I cry out in panic. “It’s okay, Emery. I got you. You’re going to be okay.”
The world blurs as he carries me out of the house and into the car, placing me gently in the back seat. He remains cool and reassuring, his focus entirely on me. He’s a rock. An anchor.
“Call him,” I sob, pain tearing through me. “You need to call him.”
Perfect.
Quin nods, pulling out his phone as he speeds toward the hospital. He dials Damon’s number, the phone ringing endlessly. Each unanswered ring feels like a nail in my foolish heart.
“Come on, Damon, pick up,” Quin mutters, his knuckles white as he grips the steering wheel. But there’s no answer. The line goes to voicemail, and Quin curses under his breath.
I moan in agony, the pain becoming unbearable. “Quin, please…”
Perfect.
“I’m here, Em,” Quin says, his voice breaking. “I’m here. We’re almost there. Hold on, just hold on.”
My breaths come in ragged gasps as the pain spreads to my temples. A vise grip tightens around my stomach, squeezing the life out of me. I can barely see through the haze of tears clouding my vision, but I focus on Quin’s soothing voice.
“Emery, look at me,” Quin says, glancing back at me through the rearview mirror. “Breathe, okay? Just keep breathing.”
I nod weakly, trying to follow his instructions, but it’s so hard. The pain is all-consuming. “It hurts, Quin,” I manage to choke out. “It hurts so much.”
“I know, darling, I know. We’re almost there. Just a little longer.”
Time and space seem to fade into nothingness as my eyelids flutter. Quin steps on the gas, racing through traffic toward the hospital. I grip the head rest in front of me, trying to find some semblance of control, but it’s slipping away, piece by piece. Shard by shard. Vision by vision.
Perfect.
“Keep breathing, darling,” Quin says, his voice unwavering. “It’s going to be fine. I promise it’ll all be fine.”
Finally, the hospital comes into view. Quin pulls up to the emergency entrance, tires screeching as he comes to a halt. He climbs out of the car, rushing to my side and carefully lifting me out.
“Help! We need help!”
Nurses and doctors swarm around us as I get placed on a stretcher. I catch fragments of their conversations—words like emergency, pain, and pregnant. It’s all happening so fast, too fast for me to process.
Quin stays by my side, holding my hand as they rush me through the sliding doors. “You’re going to be okay, Em,” he repeats over and over again. “You and the baby are going to be okay.”
Tears stream down my face as I cling to his words, praying that they’re true. The vision of our perfect future lingers in my mind. Perfect. It could’ve been so fucking perfect.
As they wheel me into the emergency room, I squeeze Quin’s hand one last time.
“Call Damon. Call him.”
Nothing is ever perfect.
It’s an illusion.