Chapter 10
Emma stood up.
The midnight-blue maternity dress had been replaced today by an elegant ivory linen dress and a soft coat, but her posture was the same as it had been at the Bellamy Room. Tall. Unbroken. Complete.
She looked down at the broken shell of the man she had once thought she couldn't live without.
“You’ll figure it out,” Emma said.
She turned and began walking down the stone path toward the blooming cherry trees.
“Emma!” Nolan cried out from the bench, but his voice was swallowed by the soft rustle of the spring wind. “Emma, please!”
A tall figure stepped onto the path ahead of her.
Graham Whitmore was wearing an impeccably tailored charcoal coat, holding two warm paper cups from the café near the boat pond. When he saw Emma walking toward him, the severe, intimidating lines of his face softened into an easy, genuine warmth.
He glanced over her shoulder, his sharp gray eyes catching Nolan sitting crumpled on the bench. Graham didn't say a word about him. He didn't gloat. He didn't even acknowledge Nolan’s existence.
Instead, Graham stepped forward, offered Emma his arm, and handed her a fresh cup of tea.
“Everything alright?” Graham asked softly.
Emma linked her arm through his, feeling the steady, solid strength beside her. She felt her baby give a firm, lively kick against her ribs—a sudden burst of vibrant life greeting the afternoon sun.
She looked up at Graham, smiled, and let out a long, peaceful breath.
“Everything,” Emma said, “is completely perfect.”
They walked together down the path beneath the canopy of white blossoms, their footsteps quiet and sure, leaving the past behind where it belonged—shivering in the cold, buried under the weight of its own hubris.