Chapter 34
NOAH
Iwoke up to silence. I reached out instinctively, my hand searching the empty space beside me.
Cold sheets.
No Em. No warmth. No faint citrus smell from her shampoo clinging to the pillow. My heart stuttered once, hard enough that I sucked in a sharp breath and sat up too fast, dizziness rushing in behind it.
The door to the bedroom was open.
I stared at it for a second longer than necessary, hoping—stupidly—that she’d walk back in with coffee, hair messy, glasses sliding down her nose. That she’d say something smart or soft or ridiculous and this knot in my chest would loosen.
She didn’t.
I swung my legs over the side of the bed, feet hitting the floor with a dull thud, and stood there listening. The apartment was too quiet. No Sassy nails clicking against the tile. No low hum of movement from the kitchen. No murmured talking to herself like she never realized anyone could hear.
That was when I knew her leaving hadn’t been a dream. My body ached, like I’d been hit by a whole damn truck. My chest throbbed. She should be here, with us, and she wasn’t.
I moved down the hall slowly, like speed might make it worse. The living room came into view piece by piece—the couch, the coffee table, the chair by the window—and my stomach dropped when I saw the empty spot by the door where Sassy’s leash always hung.
Her water bowl was gone.
So was Em’s jacket.
I stood there, hands at my sides, heart pounding hard enough that it felt like it was trying to claw its way out of my chest. I dragged a hand over my face, pressing my fingers into my eyes like that might push everything back where it belonged.
She really fucking left.
Miles stood at the end of the hallway in his pajamas, hair sticking up in three different directions, rubbing sleep out of one eye. He blinked at me, then looked past me into the living room.
“Uncle Noah?” he said quietly. “Where’s Aunt Em?”
The question hit me square in the ribs. I opened my mouth. Closed it. Tried again. God, his poor face crumpled with worry. No five-year-old should be that worried.
“She—” My voice cracked on the first attempt, and I had to swallow hard before I could continue. “She had to go help with something this morning, buddy.”
Miles frowned immediately, his small face folding into confusion. “With Sassy?”
“Yes,” I said, nodding too fast.
He walked into the room slowly, eyes scanning like he expected her to pop out from behind the couch or the kitchen counter. When she didn’t, his shoulders slumped.
“She didn’t say bye,” he said. His words weren’t an accusation. It was a statement of fact, said in that small, careful voice kids use when something didn’t make sense, but they didn’t know how to ask why.
I crouched down in front of him, ignoring the way my knees protested. I placed my hands on his arms. “I know. Sometimes grown-ups have to make quick decisions, and they aren’t fun.”
“Did I do something?” he asked, eyes flicking up to mine.
Something inside me broke clean in half.
“No,” I said immediately, sharper than I meant to. I forced my voice to soften, cupping the back of his head and pulling him into my chest. “No, buddy. Never. This has nothing to do with you.”
He leaned into me without hesitation, arms wrapping around my neck. His grip tightened, small fingers clutching the collar of my shirt like he was afraid I’d disappear too.
“I miss her,” he whispered.
“I know,” I said, my throat burning. “Me too.”
We stayed like that for a long moment, his head tucked under my chin, my hand smoothing over his hair over and over. When he finally pulled back, his eyes were wet but steady.
“Is she coming back?” he asked.
The truth sat heavy and complicated on my tongue.
“Yes,” I said, because I needed him to believe that. Because I needed to believe it too. “She needs a little time.”
He nodded slowly, accepting the truth the way kids did when they trusted you more than the situation. “Okay.”
I got him breakfast, though neither of us ate much. I packed his lunch, tied his shoes, and listened to him tell me about a dream he’d had where Sassy could talk. I smiled in the right places and laughed when he expected me to, but my chest felt hollow the entire time.
Every room reminded me of her.
The mug she used. The blanket she folded and unfolded a hundred times. The stack of fabric samples still on the table from the shop. I kept seeing her everywhere and nowhere all at once, like my brain hadn’t caught up to reality yet.
When I dropped Miles off at school, he hugged me extra tight before running inside.
“Can we see Aunt Em later?” he asked over his shoulder. “And Sassy?”
“Yes,” I said, because I couldn’t bring myself to say anything else. “We’ll figure it out.”
I sat in the car for a long time after he disappeared through the doors.
My phone sat in my hand, heavy and silent. No new messages. No missed calls. I typed her name, then erased it. Typed again. Deleted it again.
I didn’t know what to say that would bring her back.
What I did know—sitting there in a parking lot that smelled like asphalt and wet leaves—was that this wasn’t over. Not for me. Not for Miles. Not for Em.
And if she thought she had to walk away to protect us, then it was my turn to stop running and start fighting.
I didn’t plan what I was going to say on the drive over.
I just drove.
The city blurred past the windshield, my hands locked tight around the steering wheel, jaw clenched so hard it made my teeth ache.
Every stoplight felt like an insult. Every slow car in front of me made my chest burn hotter.
I hadn’t slept. I hadn’t eaten. I’d spent the morning lying to a five-year-old who trusted me with his entire heart.
That was the part I couldn’t forgive.
My parents’ house looked exactly the same as it always had—clean, controlled, untouched by the chaos they’d helped create.
The hedges were trimmed. The porch light was off even though it was overcast. The doorbell camera blinked red when I stepped onto the stoop, watching me like everything else in my life felt watched lately.
I didn’t ring the bell.
I knocked.
Hard.
The door opened to my mother first. She looked startled, then relieved, then wary in the span of about half a second. Like she’d been waiting for this and dreading it at the same time.
“Noah,” she said softly. “You should have called.”
I stepped inside without answering. The smell of home hit me hard, but it wasn’t a comfort.
My dad stood in the living room, arms folded, posture rigid like he was bracing for impact. The room smelled like lemon cleaner and something baked earlier that morning. It made my stomach twist. Normalcy felt obscene right now.
“We need to talk,” I said.
“We agree,” my father replied, voice calm in that way that always meant he thought he was right.
That did it.
“You went after her,” I said, the words coming out low and sharp. “You waited until I was gone, and you went after her.”
My mother’s face tightened. “We spoke to her, yes. We had concerns—”
“You threatened her,” I snapped, stepping forward. “You showed up at her workplace. You served her papers. You scared her so badly she left in the middle of the night without saying goodbye to a kid who loves her.”
My voice broke on that last word, and I hated that it did, hated that they got to see it. They knew she was my best friend in college. They knew I cared about her.
“She had no right to be that involved,” my father said evenly. “She’s not even family.”
I laughed once, sharp and humorless. “That’s funny. Because Miles calls her family. He asked me this morning why she didn’t say goodbye. Do you want to know what I told him?”
Neither of them spoke.
“I lied,” I said. “I lied to a five-year-old who already lost his mother because you decided control mattered more than his fucking feelings.”
My mother reached for the back of the chair like she needed something solid. “We are trying to protect him.”
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “You’re trying to replace Nat.”
The room went dead silent.
“That’s not fair,” my father said immediately.
“It’s exactly fair,” I shot back. “You didn’t listen to her when she was alive, either.
You didn’t respect her choices then, and you don’t get to rewrite that now that she’s gone.
You always judged her. You hated the fact she didn’t tell you who the father was.
You hated the fact she was a bartender. You hated the fact she didn’t do what you said. ”
My chest felt too tight, like my lungs couldn’t quite expand all the way.
I dragged a hand over my face, pressing my fingers into my eyes.
God, I missed her. This wasn’t fair, but for the first time since she died, I knew this was a fight worth having.
I knew it deep in my bones that I’d pick Miles over them for the rest of my life.
“She chose me,” I said, my voice quieter now. “She chose me because she knew I’d love him the way she did. Not conditionally. Not when it was convenient. All the time.”
My dad’s jaw flexed. “We’re his grandparents.”
“And that matters,” I said. “But it doesn’t outrank what she wanted. And it sure as hell doesn’t give you permission to hurt people who are good to him.”
My mother’s eyes filled. “Emily is not right to be around him.”
I laughed again, this time full and bitter. “She built a business in a week that half your friends couldn’t manage in a year. She shows up every single day for Miles. She puts him first even when it costs her. You know what that’s called?”
Neither of them answered.
“Love,” I said. “Real love. The kind you don’t seem to recognize unless it looks like obedience.”
My father stepped closer. “Watch your tone.”
“No,” I said, meeting his gaze without flinching. “You don’t get to police my tone when you tried to rip my family apart.”
That word—family—hung between us, heavy and undeniable.