The Ghosts of the Past

Emma's fingers curled tightly around the fabric of her sweater as she stood frozen in place.

Her mother was downstairs.

The one person she had spent years running from.

The one person she never wanted to see again.

Alexander was still looking at her, his gaze unreadable.

But beneath the controlled expression, she could feel it—

A storm brewing.

"Emma," he said, his voice low, steady. "Talk to me."

She shook her head.

"There's nothing to say," she murmured.

A lie.

They both knew it.

—

A Dangerous Invitation

Emma turned away, walking toward the window, needing space.

But of course—

Alexander didn't give it to her.

He stepped closer, his presence commanding.

"You don't have to see her," he said.

His tone was absolute.

As if just by saying it, he could make the problem disappear.

Emma swallowed.

"I know."

She turned to face him.

"But I have to."

Alexander's eyes narrowed.

"You don't owe her anything."

Emma flinched.

Because he was right.

She didn't.

But that didn't stop the memories from creeping in.

The nights spent alone.

The empty fridge.

The promises her mother never kept.

Emma exhaled sharply.

"This isn't about what I owe her," she said finally. "It's about what I need to do for myself."

For closure.

For peace.

For the girl she used to be.

Alexander studied her.

Then—

"Fine."

He pulled out his phone.

Emma frowned.

"What are you doing?"

Alexander didn't look up.

"Making sure she doesn't try anything."

Emma's stomach tightened.

"Alexander—"

But it was too late.

He had already given the order.

—

A Mother's Return

Emma's footsteps were heavy as she walked into the lobby.

Her heart pounded in her chest.

Then—

She saw her.

Madeline Carter.

Her mother.

She looked different.

Older.

Thinner.

But the eyes—

The eyes were the same.

Dark. Calculating.

Always searching for something.

Emma stopped a few feet away.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

Then—

"You look good, sweetheart," Madeline said, her voice sickly sweet.

Emma clenched her jaw.

"What do you want?"

Madeline sighed dramatically.

"Is that any way to greet your mother?"

Emma didn't blink.

"You stopped being my mother the day you walked out."

Madeline's lips twitched.

"That's a little harsh, don't you think?"

Emma crossed her arms.

"Get to the point."

Madeline pouted.

"You always were so cold."

Emma didn't respond.

Because what was there to say?

It was the only way she had survived.

—

A Familiar Pattern

Finally, Madeline sighed.

"Fine. Let's be honest, then."

She took a step closer.

Emma resisted the urge to step back.

"I need help."

Emma exhaled sharply.

"Of course you do."

Madeline placed a hand on her chest.

"You think the worst of me."

Emma didn't reply.

Because she wasn't wrong.

Madeline continued.

"I made some bad choices."

A small, rehearsed pause.

"And now I'm in trouble."

Emma's fists clenched.

"Not my problem."

Madeline's smile faltered.

"Emma—"

"No."

Emma's voice was sharp.

Firmer than she felt.

"You only show up when you want something. And I am done playing your game."

Madeline's expression darkened.

"I gave you life."

Emma laughed, but it was hollow.

"And then you threw it away."

Silence.

Long. Tense.

Then—

"Are you really going to turn your back on your own blood?" Madeline asked.

Emma's chest tightened.

"Yes."

A sharp inhale.

"You'll regret this," Madeline hissed.

Emma met her gaze.

"I already have," she whispered.

Then—

She turned.

And walked away.

—

A Line Crossed

By the time she reached the elevator, her hands were shaking.

She stepped inside, pressing the button to Alexander's floor.

Her breath was uneven.

Her heart aching.

She should feel relieved.

She had finally done it.

Cut the last thread that tied her to the past.

But all she felt was—

Empty.

The doors opened.

And there he was.

Waiting.

Watching.

Alexander took one look at her and knew.

Without a word—

He pulled her into his arms.

And for the first time in years—

Emma let herself fall.