Julian's POV
Emma's car disappeared around the corner and I couldn't move.
My legs felt like concrete. My chest hurt like someone had reached inside and squeezed my heart with both hands. The divorce papers were still in my hand, getting wrinkled from how hard I was gripping them.
I walked back inside. Closed the door. And suddenly the silence was so loud it made my ears ring.
"Emma?" I called out, even though I knew she was gone.
Nothing. Just my voice echoing back at me in a space that suddenly felt enormous and empty.
I stood in the entryway—the one I walked through every single day—and realized I couldn't remember what color the walls were. Had they always been this soft gray? Or had Emma painted them and I never noticed?
My phone buzzed. A text from Sophie: How did the meeting go? Want to grab dinner?
I deleted it without responding. The thought of Sophie made me feel sick now. How had I been so stupid? So blind?
I walked into the living room and stopped dead.
There were photos everywhere. On the walls, on the shelves, on the side tables. Photos of Lily at every age. Photos of Emma and Lily together, laughing, playing, baking. Photos of me holding Lily when she was a baby—I didn't even remember those being taken.
But there wasn't a single photo of me and Emma together. Not one. Five years of marriage and Emma hadn't put up a single picture of the two of us.
Because there weren't any happy moments to photograph.
My stomach twisted. I sat down on the couch—the incredibly comfortable couch that I'd never really sat on before because I was always "too busy"—and something crinkled under me.
I pulled out a piece of paper. It was in Emma's handwriting:
Lily's favorite lunch: PB&J with the crusts cut off, apple slices, and those crackers shaped like fish. She likes the orange ones best.
Another paper was tucked into the couch cushion:
Remember to check her backpack every day. She forgets to give you notes from her teacher.
And another:
She has nightmares sometimes. She likes her nightlight on and Mr. Whiskers next to her pillow. If she wakes up scared, sit with her and tell her about the stars. It always helps.
There were dozens of these notes. Instructions for taking care of our daughter. Instructions that Emma had written because she knew—she KNEW—I didn't know how to be Lily's father without her help.
I was holding the notes when my phone rang. My mother.
"Did you let her go?" Diana didn't even say hello.
"She left. She just... left."
"Good for her. That girl has more strength than I gave her credit for."
"Mom—"
"Don't 'Mom' me. I warned you, Julian. For five years I watched you treat that sweet girl like she was invisible. I told you to wake up before it was too late." Her voice was sharp. "Now it's too late."
"I can fix this. I can—"
"Can you give her back five years of loneliness? Can you un-miss Lily's birth? Can you erase every time you made her feel like she wasn't enough?" Diana's voice softened just a little. "I love you, son. But you broke something that can't be fixed with flowers and apologies."
She hung up.
I sat there, surrounded by Emma's notes, and felt everything I'd been avoiding for five years crash down on me at once. The weight of it made it hard to breathe.
I forced myself to stand up. To walk through the penthouse like I was seeing it for the first time.
The kitchen had a whole system—color-coded labels on everything, a calendar on the fridge with everyone's schedules, meal plans organized by week. Emma's handwriting was everywhere, holding our lives together while I hadn't even noticed we were falling apart.
I opened the fridge. She'd made meals for me. Already prepared, just needing to be heated up. Little notes on each container: Your favorite. Heat for 3 minutes. -E
She'd been taking care of me right up until the moment she left.
I walked to Lily's room and my heart cracked open completely.
The walls were covered in hand-painted murals. Stars and moons and fairy tale castles. Emma had painted this. She'd spent hours, maybe days, creating this magical space for our daughter, and I'd never once asked her about it. Never thanked her. Never told her it was beautiful.
On Lily's nightstand was a framed photo. Emma and Lily at the park, both laughing at something. They looked so happy. So complete.
I wasn't in the picture.
Because I was never there.
My phone rang again. Unknown number. I almost didn't answer, but something made me pick up.
"Mr. Pierce? This is Casey Martin. From your office."
"This isn't a good time—"
"Sir, I need to tell you something. About Miss Hart. Sophie Hart." Casey's voice was shaking. "I should have said something years ago, but she threatened my job, and I... I'm so sorry."
My blood went cold. "What are you talking about?"
"The credit cards. The phone calls. The gifts." Casey took a shaky breath. "It was Sophie, sir. She's been using your information for years. She has access to your passwords, your accounts. She's been... staging everything. Making it look like you two were having an affair."
The room spun. "What?"
"And there's something else. Something worse." Casey's voice dropped to a whisper. "She's been following Mrs. Pierce. And Lily. I saw her outside Lily's preschool last week, just... watching. It scared me. And today I overheard her on the phone saying something about 'finally getting what should have been mine' and 'that brat won't be a problem much longer.'"
My heart stopped. "She said what about my daughter?"
"Mr. Pierce, I think Sophie is planning something. Something bad. I don't know what exactly, but—"
A crash came from downstairs. Glass breaking. Loud.
"I have to go," I said.
"Sir, be careful! Don't confront her alone—"
I hung up and ran for the stairs.
The front door was wide open. Glass from the side window was shattered all over the floor.
And on the entryway table, written in red lipstick across the mirror:
IF I CAN'T HAVE YOU, NO ONE CAN. ESPECIALLY NOT HER.
My phone buzzed. A text from another unknown number. A photo.
It was Emma and Lily. Getting into Emma's car. Taken from across the street.
And one word: SOON.