Chapter 18 #2
Victoria. Of course it was Victoria.
"She sent you this?" Grant's voice is tight with barely controlled rage.
"She did me a favor." My father's smile is vicious.
"She was concerned about you, Grant. Thought you might be having some kind of breakdown after the divorce.
Mentioned she'd seen you with a younger woman and wanted to make sure you weren't being taken advantage of.
" He laughs bitterly. "Imagine my surprise when I realized the woman in question was Emma. "
"Dad, listen—"
"No." He holds up a hand. "I'm done listening. Done with the excuses and the justifications and the—" He gestures at my stomach. "The evidence of your poor judgment."
Tears burn my eyes. "It's not poor judgment. I love him."
"You're twenty-four years old, Emma. You don't know what love is."
"I know I don't want to end up like Mom." The words explode out of me before I can stop them. "Trapped in a marriage where I'm not allowed to have my own dreams or opinions. Where every decision I make has to be approved by you."
My father goes very still. "What did you just say?"
"You heard me." I'm shaking now, but I can't stop. "I've spent my whole life watching you control every aspect of Mom's life. Watching her give up her art because you thought it was a waste of time. Watching her defer to you on every decision. And I swore I would never let that happen to me."
"Your mother is happy."
"Is she? Or has she just learned that it's easier to be happy than to fight you?"
The silence that follows is deafening.
Then my father's face hardens into something cold and terrible. "I see. So this is my fault. I drove you into the arms of a predator because I'm such a terrible father."
"He's not a predator."
"He's forty-two years old and you're pregnant with his twins. What else would you call him?"
"I'd call him the man I love." My voice breaks. "The man who supports my dreams instead of dismissing them. Who treats me like an equal instead of a child. Who makes me feel valued for who I am, not who he wants me to be."
My father flinches like I've struck him. "I have always valued you."
"You've always tried to control me. There's a big difference."
"I tried to protect you." His voice rises again. "To guide you. To save you from making the exact kind of mistake you've just made."
"This is not a mistake."
"No?" He gestures at my stomach. "Then what is it? What do you call getting pregnant by a man who should have known better? A man who—" He turns back to Grant, his face beet red. "A man who was supposed to be my friend."
"I am your friend," Grant says quietly. "Or I was. I know you'll never believe this, David, but I never wanted to hurt you."
"Then you should have kept your hands off my daughter."
"I couldn't." Grant's voice is rough. "I tried. After Florence, I told myself it was a mistake. That we'd never see each other again. But then she told me she was pregnant, and I—" He stops, his jaw working. "I couldn't walk away."
"How noble." My father's voice drips with sarcasm. "You couldn't keep it in your pants, so now you're playing the devoted father-to-be. Tell me, Grant, is this about Emma? Or is this about proving you can do it better the second time around?"
The blow lands. I see it in the way Grant's face goes pale, in the flash of pain in his eyes.
"That's enough." My voice is sharp.
My father shakes his head slowly. "So you really think this is going to work out? That you and Grant are going to ride off into the sunset with your twins and live happily ever after?"
"Yes." The word comes out more certain than I feel.
"You're delusional. The age gap alone—in ten years, you'll be thirty-four and he'll be fifty-two. In twenty years, you'll be in your prime and he'll be a senior citizen. Have you thought about that? About what your life is going to look like when the novelty wears off?"
"Stop." Grant's voice is low, dangerous. "You're trying to hurt her. That's all this is. You can direct your anger at me all you want, David, but leave Emma alone."
"Leave her alone?" My father laughs. "She's my daughter. My responsibility. And I will not stand by and watch you destroy her life."
"I'm not destroying anything. I love her."
"You love the idea of her." My father's voice is vicious. "Young, beautiful, desperate for validation from a powerful man. She's the perfect ego stroke for a divorcé going through a midlife crisis."
I see Grant flinch, see the muscle in his jaw jump.
"Get out." Grant's voice is quiet, controlled. "You've said enough."
"I've said enough?" My father's laugh is incredulous. "I'm just getting started. We need to talk about what happens next. About how we're going to handle this disaster you've created."
"There's nothing to handle," I say defiantly. "I'm pregnant. Grant and I are together and that's not going to change."
"Like hell it isn't." My father's eyes are hard. "You're going to end this. Walk away from him before you ruin both your lives."
"No."
"Emma—"
"No." I step closer to Grant, my hand finding his. "I'm not leaving him. And I'm not letting you control this."
My father stares at me for a long moment. Then he picks up his phone from the coffee table, his movements slow and deliberate.
"Then you're on your own." His voice is ice cold. "Don't come to me for money when he gets bored and leaves. Don't come crying to your mother when you realize what a mistake you've made. And don't—" His voice cracks. "Don't expect me to play grandfather to his children."
The words gut me.
"David—" Grant starts, but my father cuts him off with a look of pure hatred.
"You and I are done." His voice is final.
He moves toward the door.
"Dad, wait—"
"Goodbye, Emma." He doesn't turn around. "I hope you understand what you're giving up."
The door slams behind him with a finality that echoes through every chamber of my heart.
I stand frozen for one horrible second.
Then my legs give out.
Grant catches me before I hit the floor, his arms wrapping around me as sobs tear out of my chest. Great, heaving gasps that feel like they're ripping me apart from the inside.
"I've got you," he murmurs into my hair. "I've got you, baby. You're okay."
But I'm not okay. Nothing is okay.
My father just disowned me. Called the man I love a predator. Reduced everything Grant and I have built to a sordid affair born of manipulation and poor judgment.
And the worst part—the absolutely worst part—is that some small, terrible voice in the back of my mind is whispering that maybe he's right.
Maybe I am delusional. Maybe this is a mistake. Maybe I'm going to wake up in five years and realize I sacrificed my relationship with my parents for a man who was never going to stay.
"Don't." Grant's voice is fierce. "I can feel you spiraling. Don't let him win."
"He's right about some of it." My voice is broken. "The age gap, the complications, the—"
"No." Grant pulls back, his hands framing my face, forcing me to look at him. "He's not right. He's hurt and pissed off and lashing out. But Emma, what we have—it's real. You know that."
Tears blur my vision.
His thumb gently brushes away my tears. "I'm so sorry. This is all my fault."
"It's not—"
"It is." His voice cracks. “I shouldn’t have let this happen. I knew what the consequences would be.”
We sink to the couch together, Grant's arms wrapped around me as I fall apart.
Everything I was afraid of has come true.
And the man I love is holding me while I break apart, whispering promises neither of us knows if he can keep.