Chapter 4 Emma
EMMA
I’ve held it together this long. I can make it another two blocks.
Just two more.
I can wait until I’m inside my apartment, behind a locked door, in my room or the bathroom, anywhere Laddie and my sister can’t see me fall apart.
I’m late. Several hours late. It’s the morning, and I should have been home to get Laddie up and ready for school. So it’s no surprise when I walk in and find him at the kitchen island, digging into a bowl of cereal while Talia stuffs a lunch box into his dinosaur backpack.
She looks up, and I can see the words she wants to say before she even says them. But before she can, I let loose the tears I’d planned to hold in for just a little bit longer.
Talia steps into my space, shielding me from Laddie’s view. “Girl, what happened? Are you okay?”
I lean into her, and she hugs me while I cry and cry, and when I finally feel empty, I back away, apologizing.
“Sorry I’m late,” I say, sniffling, dropping the bag that’s still on my shoulder. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Talia says gently. “But what happened?”
The question catches in my throat.
Suddenly, I feel stupid, raw, and exposed because I don’t want to admit why I’m crying, why I’m late. I almost lied. I almost said I got mugged on the train. Something easy. Something that would make her stop asking.
But I can’t.
“We had a trauma come in early this morning,” I say finally, my voice trembling despite my effort to steady it. I take a long breath and force the words out. “It was… Liam.”
There’s a long pause while she processes that.
“The Liam?” she asks quietly. “Your Liam?”
For some reason, hearing her say ‘your Liam’ cracks something in me all over again. My eyes sting, and before the tears can fall, I swipe at them and cross the kitchen to Laddie, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.
“How are you, bud?” I ask, my voice a little too bright. “Did you sleep okay?”
“Mama!” he chirps, spoon clattering against his cereal bowl. “I had a dream last night about a turtle!”
“A turtle?” I echo, grateful for the distraction.
“Yeah!” He nods hard, eyes wide. “But not a normal one. He had a shell made out of blue cotton balls, and he wore a tiara! And he said, ‘Laddie, you can’t come to my birthday party unless you bring snacks.’”
“Oh, really?” I say, smiling. “What kind of snacks?”
He scrunches up his nose, thinking hard. “Goldfish crackers. But, like, the real ones. Not the knockoff ones Aunt Talia has.”
Talia laughs from behind me. “Hey! My Goldfish are fine.”
“They taste like cardboard,” Laddie says solemnly, then bursts out laughing at his own joke.
His giggle is pure sunshine, high and contagious, and I can’t help but laugh too. I ruffle his sandy-blond hair.
“You’re lucky you’re cute, mister. Finish your breakfast before the turtle shows up and steals it.”
He gasps dramatically, grabs his spoon, and starts shoveling cereal into his mouth like it’s a race.
Talia watches me, concern etched all over her face. She looks like me with the same bone structure, the same curls, but hers catch more red in the light, and her freckles stand out across her nose and cheeks.
She’s the sun; I’m the shadow.
“He got beaten up,” I say finally. The words taste heavy. “I didn’t recognize him at first, but it was him, Tal. I… stayed late so I could make sure he was okay. I’m sorry.”
She bites her upper lip, a habit she’s had since we were kids, which means she’s trying to be careful about what she’ll say next. Her nostrils flare as she takes a deep breath and lets it back out.
“Did you know he was in the city?”
For a second, I stare at her, thrown by the question. Then it clicks, she’s not just surprised, she’s suspicious. She’s wondering if I knew. Suppose I’d seen him before if I’d been keeping something from her.
“No!” I say quickly. “No. I had no idea.”
Talia’s expression doesn’t soften. “What’s he doing here?” she asks, her voice clipped. A muscle in her jaw twitches.
“He plays for the Reapers,” I say quietly. “He seemed surprised I didn’t know.”
She nods. “Well, didn’t you tell me his dad moved here after the divorce?”
I frown, trying to remember. “Yeah… I guess I’d forgotten about that.”
Talia’s eyebrow reaches far up into her forehead dubiously. “I doubt you’ve forgotten a single detail about that boy. Be honest.”
I exhale, my shoulders sagging. “I’ve tried to move on,” I say, and it’s the truth. “I don’t think about him that much anymore.”
Talia presses her lips together in a thin line, arms crossing over her chest. “So how do you feel about seeing him?”
Under different circumstances, I might try to play it off as if it were no big deal. But since I fell into her arms and wept, I doubt I can get away with that. So, I tell her the truth.
“It was...confusing. I was worried about him as soon as I realized who he was. I still felt...protective of him.”
Talia tilts her head. “Did you talk to him?”
I nod. “A little. I kept it professional, but… he wants to talk, Tal. And what am I supposed to say to him?”
“You don’t have to say anything,” she fires back. “You walked away once. You can walk away again.”
“I told him I’d come back, though,” I admit. I feel my cheeks burn. I’m so weak.
Talia groans. “Why, Emma? Why would you tell him that?”
“It’s been six years,” I say, staring down at my hands. “I mean, we could...maybe I owe him a—”
“No,” she interrupts. “You don’t owe him a thing, Emma. You made a choice. And I supported you in that choice. And you’ve done fine.”
My sister has always been protective of me when it comes to Liam Callaghan. Not because he’s a bad guy. She just thought we dove in too deep, too fast. Got too serious before we even knew who we were.
And maybe she was right.
Liam had it rough growing up. His family life was… messy. Dark, sometimes.
And as much as I loved him, being with him wasn’t always easy. Things between us could get complicated in ways I didn’t always understand back then.
I glance at Talia and finish the thought out loud. “I do wonder if seeing him, if him crossing my path like this...maybe it’s a sign. Maybe it’s time to tell him the truth.”
Talia doesn’t respond right away. We both glance at Laddie, who’s sliding off his chair and carrying his empty bowl to the sink, then turn back toward me with a mischievous grin.
“Time to vamoose, Mama!” he declares, wiggling his little butt for emphasis.
I blink. “Vamoose?”
He nods proudly. “Yeah! It means go, go, go! I learned it from the cartoon with the cowboy dog. He says it when it’s time for adventure.
He grins, that toothless grin of a kindergartner, and I just shake my head at him.
Talia snorts. “You and your cartoons. Your mama needs a minute of rest. She had a long night at the hospital.”
Laddie just giggles, grabbing his backpack and slinging it over his shoulder. “Come on, Aunt Talia, we’re gonna be late for school if you keep babblin’.”
His tiny confidence makes me laugh, and for a moment, the ache in my chest eases.
“I owe you one,” I say.
“You owe me way more than one, but who’s counting?” As Laddie puts on his shoes, Talia asks, “Are you going to tell him?”
“Who? Laddie?” I ask.
“No. Liam.”
I shake my head. “No. At least, not yet. Who knows what he’s into? I mean, he was really beat up. And you’re right. We’ve all done fine. Laddie’s fine.”
“Laddie is more than fine,” Talia says and grabs her bag from its hook by the door. “He’s smart and well-adjusted and funny, and he doesn’t need...other people. He has us.”
I nod, feeling the tears well again as I watch my loyal, overprotective sister grab my son’s hand and walk out the door.
When the door clicks shut, the quiet hits hard. I let the tears fall again, softer this time, not the storm from before, just a steady, helpless release.
I pad into my bedroom, pull a box from the top shelf of my closet, and sit on the floor. Inside are memories from life in Minnesota, pictures of Talia and me as kids, old report cards, and birthday cards from our parents.
And then, tucked deeper, the ones I shouldn’t look at but always do.
Liam and I.
At prom.
On my birthday.
On the ski slope.
After a championship game, his jersey half off, snow still in his hair.
I stare at each one until my vision blurs.
I know I ran. I know I panicked and left. I chose to walk away, to let him have his dream.
I’ve lived with it every day since. And we’re fine, I tell myself. Truly fine.
Except I’ve never really let go of Liam Callaghan.
I’ve dated, sure. Nothing serious.
Nothing that ever came close.
Maybe because it’s hard to figure out how to bring someone new into this life. Perhaps because I compare everyone to him.
The Liam standard.
He made me feel like the most precious thing in the world. And I know, deep down, that if I’d told him I was pregnant, he would’ve given it all up. Hockey. His future. Everything. He would’ve stayed, found some dead-end job, and I would’ve spent my whole life feeling guilty for ruining his.
So I ran. I let him have the dream.
And now he’s living it, the NHL star, the top of his game. Everything worked out exactly the way it was supposed to.
So why does it feel so hollow?
Why am I sitting here on my bedroom floor, crying over old photos of the boy I thought I’d never see again?