Chapter 14 - Lucy
I walk the long way home. Not because I’m trying to punish myself, but because I need the cold air. The movement. Something physical to keep me from spiralling any further.
Marriage.
He said it as if it were a business term.
I keep seeing his face when I stood up. Not angry. Not shocked. Just… still. Like he’d miscalculated, and the idea bothered him more than the rejection itself.
That should make me feel powerful, but it doesn’t.
By the time I unlock the apartment door, my feet ache, and my lungs feel too tight, like I’ve been holding my breath for hours without realizing it.
The lights are low. The TV murmurs in the living room.
Mom is asleep on the couch, propped up with pillows, her chest rising and falling slowly. There’s a blanket tucked carefully around her. Her face is pale, relaxed only because the medication has pulled her under.
I toe off my shoes quietly and hang my coat, my movements instinctively careful, like loudness itself could hurt her.
Emily looks up from the worn-in oversized armchair the second I step into the room.
She knows.
She always does.
“Hey,” she breathes.
“Hey.”
She studies my face for half a second, then stands and motions to the chair behind her. “Sit.”
“I’m fine,” I lie.
She raises one brow. “Lucy.”
I sigh and drop onto the armchair, studying Mom, curling in on myself like I did when I was a kid. Like being smaller might make everything feel less heavy.
Emily disappears into the kitchen.
I hear a cabinet open. Then another. A pause.
She comes back holding a bottle of red wine and two oversized coffee mugs.
I blink. “What’s that?”
“A gift,” she says, already twisting the cap free. “From a fellow student, I helped study to pass an exam. I was saving it for a celebration.”
She pours, hands me a mug, then shoots me a look and then taps my side, saying, "Scoot."
Em settles beside me, pulling a blanket over both of us like a practised gesture. It reminds me of when we were little.
“Maybe tonight is more important than any celebration,” she adds.
I take a sip. It’s smooth. Warm. A much-needed comfort after the day I've had.
We sit in silence for a moment, listening to Mom breathe.
Finally, I whisper, “How was class?”
Emily shrugs. “Gross. Fascinating. Terrifying. All at once.” Then she looks at me, "She won't wake up. Not for a while anyway."
I nod, understanding that when Mom's body finally allows sleep to come and the meds work, she can sleep through anything. “Anyone interesting?” I ask, defaulting to familiar ground.
She smirks. “There’s this girl in my group who used to strip to pay for undergrad.”
I choke slightly on my wine. “Em.”
“What?” she says innocently. “It's enlightening. Kind of I don't know... empowering.”
“What?”
She shrugs again. “Life. I don't know. She wants to be a doctor, and she will be a great one. But she comes from less than nothing. She is an absolute knockout, so she used the only currency she had and is now on her way to becoming a doctor.”
I laugh despite myself. “Go on.”
“Well,” she continues, swirling her wine, “apparently, she stopped because she met this older guy. Obscene money. Like, doesn’t know what to do with it money.”
I glance at her. “And?”
“And now he pays for everything. Tuition. Rent. Trips. Shiny things. She calls him her… benefactor.”
I frown. “You mean sugar daddy.”
Emily grimaces. “That’s the term, yes.”
I study my little sister for a moment; she is still so young, yet the weight she carries seems to age her.
I hesitate, then ask quietly, “Would you ever… consider something like that?”
She doesn’t answer right away.
She takes another sip.
“Not for jewelry,” she says finally. “Or vacations. Or stupid shit.”
I nod.
“But” she adds, eyes fixed on the mug, “to finish school? To help Mom? To take some of the pressure off you?”
She lets the words hang between us, and my stomach twists.
Emily looks at me then, really looks. “I would.”
The room feels heavier.
I stare at Mom’s sleeping face, at the new lines time and illness have etched there.
“God,” I whisper. “I don’t want you thinking like that.”
“I already do,” she replies gently. “Because I see you.”
I swallow hard. “I wasn’t going to talk to you about this, I don't want you to ever think about this... I....”
She snorts. “Who else are you going to talk to? You don’t have friends, Lucy. You have coworkers and responsibilities.”
“That’s unfair.”
“It’s accurate.”
I close my eyes. Then, because the truth is already clawing its way out of me, I say it.
“What do you think about… contractual marriages?”
Emily bursts out laughing. “Like Bridgerton?”
I wince. “No.”
“Mafia romances?” she tries. “Cold billionaire meets tragic heroine?”
My heart stutters, and she stops laughing.
Her gaze sharpens. “Does this have anything to do with the handsome billionaire you had dinner with?”
“What?” I squeak. “How would you...”
She reaches for her phone, pulls something up and turns the screen toward me.
And there it is.
A grainy but unmistakable photo of Julian and me at dinner. Candlelight, with a creative angle. His body turned toward mine. My hand mid-gesture, animated, open.
CHICAGO INSIDER
Northwell founder spotted at cozy dinner with mystery brunette.
My stomach drops.
“I...” I scramble. “I work for him. I’m planning the Northwell Christmas party.”
Emily snorts. “Lucy.”
“I do.”
“Sure,” she says dryly. “And I dissect cadavers for fun.”
I groan and drop my face into my free hand.
After a long moment, I tell her everything.
The dinner.
The conversation.
The offer.
The word marriage still feels surreal in my mouth.
Emily listens without interrupting, her expression shifting from disbelief to concern to something quieter.
When I finish, she leans back against the chair.
“Well,” she says slowly. “That’s… a lot.”
“I said no,” I add quickly. “I walked away.”
“I know,” she says. “I can tell.”
I stare into my wine.
“I’m not selfish, am I?” I whisper. “For wanting more than… that?”
She considers me carefully.
“I don’t think you’re selfish for wanting love,” she says. “I think you’re scared of letting go of the version you imagined.”
I hate how true that sounds.
“I always thought…” My voice cracks. I clear my throat. “I thought love would be big. Not flashy. Just… deep. Like someone would know me so completely that choosing me wouldn’t be a question.”
Emily stays quiet.
“That we’d decide to have kids because we wanted to build something together. A world where our love existed beyond us.”
My whole heart aches.
“That was the one dream I kept,” I admit. “The one thing I didn’t compromise on.”
We sit in silence for a long time.
Then Emily says in a low voice, “Maybe that dream doesn’t fit who we are anymore.”
I look at her.
“Or who you need to be right now,” she continues. “Maybe the new dream is being with someone who makes things easier. Who helps you breathe. Who takes care of you for once.”
I shake my head. “He doesn’t see me. He sees… a solution. A trophy. A womb for hire.”
Emily tilts her head. “Is that what he said?”
“No.”
“Is that what he implied?”
I hesitate.
“Or is that what you heard?” she presses gently, “because you didn’t let him finish?”
The question hangs uncomfortably between us.
I don’t have an answer.
Emily reaches over and squeezes my hand. “I’m not saying you should say yes. I’m saying… maybe you don’t fully understand the offer yet.”
I stare at Mom. At the woman who gave me life, who has been suffering in unimaginable pain for years. At the future pressing in from all sides.
“I’m tired,” I whisper.
Emily nods. “I know, Lu.”
We sit there, two sisters trying to hold the fractured pieces of our world together, the dream I never said out loud hovering between us, the dreams I let go a long time ago and the dream I will do anything to make sure Emily gets to see come true.
And for the first time since dinner...
I wonder if walking away was strength.
Or fear.