Chapter 28 #2
"This is from both your dad and me," she says quietly to Emma before extending the package toward me.
I accept the package, not sure what to say. "Helen—"
"He's stubborn." Her voice is firm despite the tears. "You know that. You've known him forever. But Grant—he's hurting. And when he hurts, he gets angry. Pushes people away."
"I know." The words come out rough. "But what he said to Emma—"
"Was cruel. And wrong." Helen looks at her daughter, her expression pained. "Emma, sweetheart, I'm not making excuses for him. What he said when he found out, the way he's acted—it's inexcusable. But I know he loves you so much. He's just too proud to admit he was wrong."
Emma's jaw tightens. "He disowned me, Mom. He said I was no longer his daughter."
"I know." Fresh tears spill down Helen's cheeks. "And I told him that he was throwing away his relationship with his only child over his own wounded pride. We've been fighting about it for months."
The image of Helen—quiet, subdued Helen—fighting with David makes me see her in a whole different light.
Helen looks down at Clara sleeping in her arms. "I told him that his grandchildren were about to be born.
That he could either be part of their lives, or he could be a stubborn old fool who let his pride cost him everything that matters.
" Her smile is sad. "He didn't come with me.
But he wrapped this. Badly, obviously. And he told me to give it to you. "
I look down at the package in my hands. The paper is creased, the ribbon tied in a lopsided bow. I can picture David at the kitchen table, fumbling with tape and scissors, too proud to ask for help.
Too proud to come himself, but maybe wishing he could.
"Open it," Emma says quietly.
I pull the ribbon loose, peel back the paper. Inside is a small white box.
Inside the box are two teddy bears.
They're identical—soft cream-colored fur, velvety brown embroidered eyes, little plaid bow ties. The kind of classic teddy bear that all babies should have.
"There's a card," Helen says softly.
I unfold it. David's handwriting is barely legible, the letters cramped and uneven.
Take care of them. And take care of my daughter.
—D
Not "love." Not "congratulations." Not even his full name.
But it's something. A tiny opening that suggests maybe—maybe—there's a path back.
I look up at Helen, then at Emma. She's crying silently, her hand pressed over her mouth.
"He'll come around," Helen says. "He's already softening. I can see it. It might take time, but—he will come around."
"I don't want him in their lives if he's going to treat Emma the way he did," I say. My voice is steady despite the emotion churning inside me. "I won’t have it.”
"I know." Helen shifts Clara carefully, then moves to hand her back to Emma. "And I'm not asking you to forgive him today. Or tomorrow. I'm just asking you to—to leave the door open. For when he's ready."
Emma looks at me, tears streaming down her face. I see the conflict in her eyes—the old wound warring with hope.
I move to sit on the edge of the bed beside her, Clara between us, James still nestled in her other arm.
"It's your choice," I tell Emma quietly. "Whatever you decide, I support you. If you want to shut him out permanently, I'll stand with you. If you want to give him a chance to earn his way back, I'll stand with you. This is your call."
She looks down at the twins, then at the two teddy bears I'm still holding.
Helen wipes at her eyes. "He's not ready to admit it yet, but he's proud of you. Proud of the family you're building."
Emma's tears fall faster now. I set the teddy bears down carefully and wrap my arm around her shoulders, pulling her and our children close.
"I’m open to having him back in my life. In our lives…" Emma says finally. "But Mom, you have to tell him—if he comes back, it's on our terms. No controlling. No dismissing Grant. No treating me like I'm stupid for loving him."
"I'll tell him." Helen looks at me, her expression fierce despite the tears. "Grant, I'm sorry. For everything you've been through with this. You deserved better from David."
I shake my head. "He was protecting his daughter. I understand that impulse."
I look down at Clara and James, at their impossibly small faces, and feel a surge of protectiveness so intense it's almost violent.
If someone hurt them, I'd burn the world down.
"But that doesn't make what he said okay," I continue.
"And Helen, I need you to understand—I love your daughter.
This isn't some temporary thing. This isn't me going through a midlife crisis or trying to recapture my youth.
Emma is my partner. And I will not tolerate anyone treating her as less than she deserves. Not even David."
Helen's smile is watery but genuine. "Good. She needs someone who will stand up for her. Someone who sees her strength." She glances at Emma. "Someone who's not like me—I stayed quiet much too long."
The admission hangs in the air, heavy with years of regret.
"Mom—" Emma starts.
"No. Let me say this." Helen straightens her shoulders, and for just a moment, I see where Emma gets her steel.
"I should have stood up to your father years ago.
Should have protected you better. Should have showed you that marriage doesn't have to mean losing yourself.
I didn't. And I'm sorry, sweetheart. So sorry. "
"You did your best, Mom. I know that."
"My best wasn't good enough." Helen squeezes her daughter's shoulder. "But you—Emma, you're doing it right. Building a life with someone who respects you. Who supports your dreams instead of diminishing them. I'm so proud of you."
The tears are flowing freely now. Even I'm not immune, my eyes stinging as I watch Helen and Emma bridge the gap between them.
"I should go," Helen says after a moment. "Let you rest. But Emma, Grant—if you need anything. Anything at all. I'm here. And I'm going to keep working on your father."
"Thank you," Emma says softly.
Helen kisses her daughter's forehead, then mine, then bends to place gentle kisses on each twin's head.
She slips out of the room quietly, leaving us alone with our babies.
Emma leans against my shoulder, exhausted. "Do you think he'll really come around?"
"I don't know." I pick up one of the bears and study it. "But Emma, even if he doesn't, we're okay. You, me, and these two. We're enough."
"I know." She looks up at me. "I just—I want them to know their grandfather. The good parts of him. The parts that are worth knowing."
"They will. Someday. If he earns it." I kiss her temple. "But right now, let's just focus on us. On figuring out how to keep these two tiny humans alive."
Her laugh is shaky. "Are you scared?"
"Terrified, actually."
"Good. I'd hate to be the only one panicking."
James chooses that moment to start fussing again, his little face scrunching up. I take Clara from her arms and watch as Emma guides James to her breast using the techniques the lactation consultant taught her earlier.
The sight of her nursing our son—patient and focused despite her exhaustion—makes my heart feel like it’s going to burst.
This is my family.
Emma looks up at me over James's head, her expression soft. "What are you thinking about?"
"How lucky I am."
"Even though your best friend hates you and your ex-wife tried to destroy us?"
"Even though." I reach out to stroke Clara's cheek with one finger. "Emma, a year ago, I was alone in my penthouse, convinced I'd never find real love. And now—" My voice catches. "Now I have everything."
"We have everything," she corrects gently.
I smile and nod in agreement.
James finishes nursing and immediately falls asleep against Emma's chest. I help her gently settle both twins back into their bassinets.
They sleep peacefully, side by side, their tiny chests rising and falling.
"I should sleep," Emma says, and she's already drifting off, her eyes heavy.
"Sleep." I pull the blanket up over her. "I'll watch them."
"Grant—"
"I'll wake you if they need you. I promise. But right now, you need to rest."
She wants to argue. I can see it in her eyes. But exhaustion wins, and she lets herself sink into the pillows.
"I love you," she whispers.
"And I love you."
Within minutes, her breathing evens out into sleep.
I settle into the chair between the bed and the bassinets, my body aching but my mind too awake to rest.
I don't know if David will ever truly come around. Don't know if he'll walk his daughter down the aisle at our wedding, or teach his grandchildren to play golf, or any of the other moments I've pictured in my more optimistic fantasies.
But he wrapped gifts for them. He told me to take care of them.
It's a start.
Clara shifts in her sleep, making a soft sound. I reach over to rest my hand on her tiny belly, feeling the rise and fall of her breathing.
So fragile and perfect. So completely dependent on Emma and me to keep her safe.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out carefully, not wanting to wake anyone.
A text from Samantha.
Samantha: Congratulations, Dad. I'm so happy for you!
My throat goes tight. I type back with one hand.
Me: Thank you! That means a lot.
Samantha: I'll visit tomorrow if that's okay? Want to meet my baby brother and sister.
Me: More than okay. They're lucky to have you as their big sister.
A pause, then: Samantha: I'm lucky too. See you tomorrow. Give Emma a hug from me.
I set the phone down, my heart full.
I feel a sense of rightness so profound it's overwhelming.
This is it. This is everything.
I settle deeper into the chair, my eyes on my family, and let myself finally, fully believe it.
We made it. Through all the fear and conflict and impossible obstacles.
We made it to the other side.
Together.