The New Emily Hills

Chapter 15

NORA

“Sign this,” Asher said coldly as he dropped a folder beside me.

A wave of weakness washed over my body, as if I were a candle nearing the end of its wick, flickering and about to burn out completely. Why was he asking me to sign something?

Slowly, I lifted my gaze toward him.

Asher was standing beside Corrine—too close, their bodies angled toward each other as if they belonged on the same side, as if they were a single, united front facing me alone. The sharp scent of antiseptic hung in the air. Above me, harsh white lights glared from the ceiling, and somewhere nearby, machines hummed in a steady, mechanical rhythm.

That was when it hit me.

I was in a hospital.

The realization settled heavier when I became aware of my position—lying flat on a hospital bed, an IV line attached to my hand, my body aching in places I couldn’t even identify.

I reached for the folder. It felt heavy—not just in my hand, but deep in my chest. When I opened it, several pages of documents greeted me. My vision was blurry, spinning slightly, but despite that, the bold, capitalized words at the top of the page were unmistakable. They screamed at me like a verdict being read to someone already condemned.

DIVORCE AGREEMENT

My chest tightened painfully.

Here I was—lying in a hospital bed, my entire body in pain, needles pierced into my skin—and yet Asher stood there, composed, upright, and shameless enough to present me with divorce papers.

He’s a jerk.

“Emily,” Corrine said softly, her voice wrapped in forced gentleness, “I know this is hard to accept. But for your peace of mind, it would be better if you just signed it. You’ve always been thinking badly about Asher and me, even though there’s really nothing between us aside from friendship…”

Slowly, I turned my eyes toward her—then to Asher, who simply stood there, watching me in silence.

I couldn’t tell what was going on inside his head, but one thing was painfully clear.

He was heartless.

Corrine’s voice sounded sincere—smooth, gentle, almost concerned. But her expression made my stomach churn. I caught it then: a tiny smile, fleeting yet unmistakable, curving at the corner of her lips.

A smile of victory.

As if she already knew I didn’t have the strength left to fight.

I swallowed hard, struggling to breathe properly. My gaze dropped back to the papers as I picked up the pen clipped to the folder. My hand was trembling—weak, injured, defenseless. Warm tears slipped down my cheeks, soaking into the pillow beneath my head.

Inside me, something raged like a volcano on the verge of eruption—anger, pain, betrayal, all crashing together at once. And yet, despite all of it, there was nothing I could do.

Except to sign.

Slowly.

Painfully.

Until it was done.

My hand fell limply to my side, as though it no longer served any purpose at all.

“Emily, is something wrong?” Asher asked. Concern edged into his voice as he moved as if to step closer.

I didn’t look at him.

I couldn’t.

I had no strength left.

My eyes remained fixed on the folder as Corrine quickly closed it and picked it up without hesitation.

“Let’s go, Asher,” she said gently, her voice unbearably sweet. “Emily needs to rest…”

Those were the last words I heard from them.

I watched their backs as they left the room. Walking side by side, steps light and unburdened while I remained there, broken, unmoving, slowly being swallowed by the darkness closing in around me.

My eyes drifted shut.

Before I completely lost consciousness, I heard the machines attached to me begin to beep rapidly, one after another. My chest constricted violently, my breath coming short and desperate, as if something heavy were crushing my lungs. I gasped for air until there was nothing left—

Until everything faded into nothingness.

And then—

I woke up.

I shot upright, gasping, eyes wide with panic. Instinctively, I scanned my surroundings and realized I was back in my own bedroom. Silent. Still. No machines. No blinding hospital lights.

Yet my body was drenched in sweat, despite the cold air blowing from the air conditioner.

And only then did I fully understand—

That wasn’t just a nightmare.

It was a memory.

And if a single fragment of Emily’s past hurt this much…

How many more wounds had Asher left behind?

I rose from the bed and slowly made my way to the bathroom. With every step, it felt as though something heavy was still pressing down on my chest, refusing to lift no matter how much distance I put between myself and the dream—or the memory.

When I finally faced the mirror, my brows immediately knit together.

I looked… haggard.

My skin was pale, my eyes slightly swollen, and no matter how much I straightened my back, I couldn’t hide the exhaustion etched into my face. It wasn’t the kind of tiredness that came from a lack of sleep or physical strain—it was deeper than that. Soul-deep.

Damn.

It was just a dream—or should I even call it that anymore? So why did I look like this?

If that truly was one of Emily’s memories, then it must have happened before I fully awakened in her body. Or worse—much worse—it might have been the very day she finally let go of this body altogether. The day she didn’t just give up on her marriage, but on her life itself.

The weight of that thought settled heavily inside me.

I washed my face in silence, letting the cold water run over my skin as if it could erase the traces of the past clinging to me. I brushed my teeth, but even after rinsing, the bitterness lingered on my tongue. It was clear—I wasn’t going back to sleep.

When I returned to the bedroom, I picked up my phone from the bedside table and checked the time.

4:37 A.M.

Morning had already arrived.

I took a deep breath before heading to the walk-in closet. I grabbed my jogging clothes and changed quickly. Moments later, I left the room—and then the house.

The Hills couple was still asleep. The surroundings were quiet, untouched by chaos or pain, as if nothing in this house had ever broken. They already knew about my routine—running at dawn—so I didn’t bother leaving a note or saying anything.

After an hour and a half, I returned, slightly out of breath but with a clearer mind.

However, the moment I stepped inside, I was greeted by Esmeralda—smiling brightly, looking like she had just come downstairs based on the direction she came from.

Why is she like this?

That kind of smile—the kind that looks like the world has never placed a burden on her shoulders. As if there were no wounds to hide, no cracks to cover up. It was unsettling in a way I couldn’t quite explain.

“Good morning, dear…”

“Good morning Mom,” I replied.

“I’m glad you’re back,” she said cheerfully. “Come on and have breakfast.”

Seriously? Right after my jog?

And yet, there was something about her smile—not forceful, not intrusive—that made it hard to refuse. Even though I was still sweaty, I followed her to the lanai, where Rod was already seated, breakfast neatly laid out on the table.

“Good morning,” Rod greeted.

“Good morning, Dad.”

Esmeralda sat beside her husband with practiced ease, her movements natural and unthinking. I took the seat across from them, reaching only for a slice of wheat bread just as Nadia arrived carrying a cup of freshly brewed, steaming coffee.

“Emily, are you sure about all this jogging thing?” Rod asked, concern evident in his tone. “You might not be fully recovered yet. That could be bad for you.”

“I’m fine now. There’s nothing to worry about,” I answered calmly.

“Let the child be,” Esmeralda cut in. “She’s just starting to become active again, and you already want to stop her.”

“I’m just saying,” Rod replied. “I want to be sure our daughter is completely healed.”

“That’s enough. I’m really okay,” I said with a smile.

They smiled back, and the conversation drifted away as they continued eating.

I watched them quietly.

I observed how Esmeralda took care of Rod—how she placed food on his plate without being asked, how she smiled while doing it, how he returned that smile just as easily. There was no effort, no drama. It was as if they had been moving in this rhythm for years, maybe decades.

I shook my head to myself.

I couldn’t do that.

I didn’t want to be like that.

Is this really how women are supposed to be? Quiet, nurturing, their worlds revolving around the man beside them?

And suddenly, Emily came to mind.

The memory.

The document.

The signature.

The pain.

The very reason I had woken up earlier.

Do the Hills know about that?