Chapter 24 Emma
EMMA
The moment I step out of the hospital doors, I take the deepest breath I’ve taken in days.
The air outside is brisk, cold enough that it cuts through the thin cotton of my shirt, but I welcome it, denying a blanket when the discharge nurse asks me if I want one, telling me that it’s significantly colder now than it was when I first got here.
I want to feel something, anything that isn’t the constant physical ache in my chest or the crushing sense of inevitability that I’ve been choking on since the doctor looked me in the eyes three months ago and told me I was in heart failure.
The air smells of pine, damp pavement, and wood smoke from a nearby chimney. It should feel like comfort. Instead, the weight settles heavily in my bones. I might’ve walked out of the hospital, but I didn’t leave any of my problems behind.
I took them with me.
All the fear, all the questions, all the time I don’t have, followed me out those doors.
Frankie is leaning against his truck at the curb, arms folded across his chest like he’s been waiting forever. His hair is a mess and the shirt under his jacket is half wrinkled. He straightens when he sees me, pressing his lips together like he’s not sure what to say.
I don’t make it easy for him. I cross my arms and raise a brow. “You lose a bet or something?"
That makes him huff a laugh, a familiar smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Yeah, actually. Cam won rock-paper-scissors.”
I roll my eyes as he walks toward me and grabs the bag of the belongings I apparently came here with.
I let him. My limbs feel like they’re filled with lead and I don’t have the energy to protest. The ache behind my ribs hasn’t gone away since the moment I collapsed.
Every breath feels too shallow, every movement a reminder of the ticking time bomb inside of me.
The drive home is quiet at first, only the sound of the tires moaning against the road and the occasional click of Frankie drumming his fingers against the steering wheel.
I lean my head against the cold window glass, watching the pine trees and rooftops dusted in frost blur past. Windhaven is quiet and slow and small in a way that once made me claustrophobic, but now it feels almost… safe.
Frankie exhales something’s been sitting in his chest for too long. “I need to say something.”
I blink, turning my head to look at him. “This is new.” I don’t know if he’s said even five words to me since I moved back months ago.
He ignores my comment. “I was mad at you when you left for New York.”
My body stills at the words.
He’s not looking at me, simply staring ahead at the road like it’s easier to talk to the trees than to his twin sister. “Not just mad,” he adds, softer now. “I was… hurt.”
My stomach twists. “Frankie, I—”
“I needed you, Em.” His voice is low and raw, cracking at the edges like, as he has held the words in for too long. For the first time in a long time, I hear the hurt underneath the sarcasm he always hides behind. “We were always together. You were my best friend. And then one day, you just… left.”
I blink, caught off guard by his honesty.
“I didn’t leave for nothing,” I whisper in response. “I had to—”
“You didn’t think about how it would affect any of us.”
I swallow. The guilt feels like bile rising in the back of my throat. I know when I left Windhaven it wasn’t easy on my brothers, but I guess I never really stopped to think about what it was like for them, for him.
We were inseparable growing up. We spent every summer running around barefoot, riding bareback down the trails, making up stories about the animals in the barn like they were characters in some epic fairy tale. Frankie and Emma, the Diaz twins. That’s what everyone in town referred to us as.
But I left, and Frankie stayed. I boarded a plane to New York and didn’t look back, burying my roots so deep I thought they wouldn’t matter anymore.
But they did matter. They do matter.
I swallow past the lump in my throat. “Frankie—”
“I wasted so much time being mad at you.” He interrupts, voice dropping down again. “And now… now we don’t know how much time we have and I—”
That sentence right there is what breaks me. Not the hospital, or the diagnosis. Not even seeing the look on Alex’s face the last time I told him to leave.
It’s this. This conversation right here with my twin brother.
For the past ten years, I haven’t sat down to acknowledge anyone else’s pain but my own.
We all lost our mom. We all had to process that grief on top of the one that had already made a home inside each of us.
I ran away, choosing to bury everything away, while they had no other choice but to stay and pick up the pieces I couldn’t carry.
Tears prick my eyes as I reach for his hand. He grips mine back tightly, neither of us saying anything for a long moment. Finally, I squeeze back, fingers trembling. “I’m sorry I left.”
He nods once, staring straight ahead. “I’m sorry, too.”
There’s nothing else to say. Sometimes the silence is enough.
We don’t talk for a good while, until what feels like word vomit comes out as we are halfway home. “Have you heard from Alex?” I don’t know why I feel the need to ask about him right now, but the question comes out before my brain processes it.
Frankie sighs, rolling his shoulders like the question makes him physically tense. “Yeah.”
I hesitate. “And?”
He side-eyes me quickly, not taking his eyes off the road for more than a second. “He came to the hospital. Every day.”
My head snaps toward him. “What?”
Frankie nods. “He’s been coming back every single day to see you since you were admitted. You said you didn’t want to see him, so Cam kept him out of your room.”
I stare at him, my mind scrambling to process what he said. “And no one told me?”
Frankie gives me a look. “Would it have made a difference?”
I don’t know the answer to that. Maybe I would’ve screamed at him. Maybe I would’ve sobbed into his shirt. Maybe I would’ve said nothing at all.
“I… I don’t know.”
Frankie sighs and pulls into the driveway and I see someone standing on a ladder with a paint roller in their hand, painting the siding of the yellow house a fresh coat of yellow.
Sunlight hits his face just right, catching the sweat at his temple, the sharp angle of his jaw, the focused set of his mouth.
Alex turns to the sound of the truck tires crunching on the gravel, his eyes instantly meeting mine. I don’t even realize I’m staring until Frankie clears his throat beside me.
“Uh… yeah. About that.”
I tear my eyes away, looking back at Frankie as I open the door and step out. “What the hell is going on?”
Alex steps down from the ladder, wiping both hands on his jeans as he walks over towards me. “I didn’t want you coming home to a house that felt more like a project than a home.” He says simply.
I blink at him in disbelief.
Leo appears on the porch suddenly, carrying Mia in his arms. “It was all his idea.”
I blink between them, heart hammering in my chest. “You fixed my house?”
Alex shrugs. “You couldn’t do it yourself.”
I’m overwhelmed with too many emotions all tangled up and storming inside me—grief, gratitude, fury, affection, and guilt. I don’t even know which one is winning anymore.
Frankie grabs my bag. “I’ll help you inside.”
I shake my head. “I got it.”
Alex moves closer to help me anyway, offering a hand. I hesitate but then, slowly take it. His grip is warm and solid as he guides me up the steps and into the house, like he’s afraid I’ll shatter in his hands.
When I step inside, I feel like I’ve stepped into a dream, specifically the dream that I told him about the last time we were together.
The floorboards don’t creak under my feet.
The paint is fresh. The lights aren’t flickering.
There is a small vase of wildflowers on the table, picked from all around the property, just like we used to pick together and I would leave on the windowsill when I was eighteen and stupidly in love with him.
I take slow, shaky steps through the house, absorbing every detail. The bathroom tiles that don’t have cracks running through them anymore. The door that doesn’t squeak when I push it open.
The space that finally feels like a home.
My chest tightens, my vision suddenly blurring as I try to blink away the tears.
Alex notices. “Why are you crying, Princess?”
I try to speak, but nothing comes out besides a shaky breath.
He takes a slow step closer. “Em.”
I shake my head, wiping the tears from my face. “I just—” I swallow hard. “Thank you.”
Alex’s eyes search mine, and for a second, I swear I see relief there. Then he exhales, raking a hand through his hair. “I wanted to explain why I wasn’t there that morning. Why I left.”
I study him. His face is serious. He needs me to understand. And I know that I should at least give him a chance to explain himself but I'm too overwhelmed right now, too raw.
Still I give him a small nod. “Okay.”
The corner of his mouth lifts just barely, then he glances out the back door. “Come on,” he says. “There’s one more thing I want to show you first.”
The second I step into the backyard, I am more overwhelmed than I thought possible. My breaths come in short gasps. And this time not because I am currently, actually, dying.
It’s beautiful.
The overgrown grass and weeds are gone and replaced with a lush, manicured lawn that looks almost fake.
The flower beds, once choked with dead leaves and neglect, are now brimming with color—deep purples, bright yellows and soft pinks.
The towering oak tree at the back of the yard has twinkling fairy lights woven through its branches, their glow flickering softly in the early evening light.
The deck has been completely redone. New planks, a fresh coat of stain, railings that don’t wobble when you lean against them. The porch swing, that hasn’t been in commission for years, now hangs steadily with new, plump cushions. The perfect spot for future reading.
The most breathtaking aspect of it all is the setup in the center of the yard.
A picnic. A large, checkered blanket is spread across the grass, layered with plush pillows in warm earthy tones.
Candles, of different shapes and sizes, are scattered around the edges, flickering in the dimming light.
And on top of the blanket, sitting in perfect little takeout containers, is my favorite sushi.
The logo on the outside tells me that it’s from a place in town I’ve craved for the last decade and didn’t think was still in business.
I press a hand to my mouth in disbelief. Alex notices my shock and clears his throat behind me. “It’s from East Harbor.”
I whip my head around to look at him, my vision suddenly blurring again. “Are you kidding me?”
A small, almost shy smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “We used to get it all the time.”
I can’t stop the tears this time. They spill over, warm and unrelenting, streaming down my face as I look at him, at the yard, at everything. No one has ever done anything like this for me before.
Alex steps closer, his hands hovering near my waist like he’s ready to steady me if I need it. “Come on,” he says gently. “Let’s sit.”
I nod, not trusting my voice, and let him guide me toward the blanket. He moves slowly, carefully, helping me lower myself onto the pillows.
“Comfortable?” he asks.
I nod again, not able to respond with any words. I can’t look at him without crying again.
Alex exhales softly, brushing a thumb against my cheek to wipe a tear away. His touch is gentle and lingering. “You’re really crying again, huh?”
I let out a wet laugh. “Shut up.”
He chuckles, but then his face sobers and I feel the shift in the air between us.
“I need to tell you what happened that morning,” he says.
I stiffen slightly, bracing myself for a topic I really don’t want to relive.
He runs a hand through his hair again, looking away for a second before meeting my eyes again. “I didn’t leave you, Em. I went to get us coffee, and something sweet for you, because you always want something sweet in the morning. When I got back, you were gone.”
My breath hitches at the truth and I feel guilty for ever assuming he just up and left me.
He swallows. “I wouldn’t have left if I had known. If I had any idea that you were sick, that you were—” He stops himself, exhaling sharply. “I never would have left you alone.”
I blink at him, my mind scrambling to process. All this time, I thought he had walked away because he regretted everything that happened between us.
I shake my head slowly, my lips pressing together. “Well,” I manage, “your plan kind of backfired, didn’t it?” I sniff, rubbing my eyes. “I should have told you about the heart failure.”
He watches me for a long beat before nodding. “Yeah. You should’ve.”
I let out a breath, staring at my hands in my lap. “It’s always upset me, you know. How things ended between us the day before I left. I never wanted it to be like that.”
He shifts closer, voice low as he says. “Do you think I’ve gone one second without thinking about you?”
I look up at him sharply, heart thudding against my ribs.
His expression is raw and open in a way I’ve never seen before. “When your mom died,” he says, voice thick as sadness comes to the surface, “all I wanted to do was hold you. I wanted you to know you still had something worth living for. That you didn’t have to run away.”
Tears sting my eyes again. I reach for him before I can think twice. And when he leans in, I meet him halfway. The kiss is soft at first, tentative. His lips brush against mine like he’s making sure I want this. He’s giving me a chance to pull away, but I don’t.
I press closer, my fingers curling into the fabric of his hoodie, and that’s all it takes for the kiss to shift into something deeper.
His hands come up to cradle my face, his thumb swiping gently against my skin.
He kisses me like he’s afraid I might disappear again, like he’s been waiting for a moment like this again.
Maybe he has.
Maybe I have, too.