Mommy, Please Marry Our Daddy

Chapter 3 Tiny Christmas Angel

Emma

Harrison's handsome face contorted. "You're making a huge mistake." He grabbed for my arm but I stepped back. "I'll ruin you! By the time I'm done, no one in fashion will touch you!"

I almost laughed. The threat that would have terrified me an hour ago now felt... small. Like him.

"Go ahead." I turned away, surprised by how steady my legs felt on the icy steps. "Tell everyone. At least I'll be able to look at myself in the mirror."

"You ungrateful b***h!" His voice cracked with rage. "You're nothing without me! Nothing!"

I didn't bother looking back. Just lifted my hand in a wave as I walked away. "Better nothing than your something."

I walked away from the church, from Harrison, from a future built on lies and shame. The adrenaline high lasted until I reached the park, where Christmas carols drifted from a nearby carousel. Then reality hit me like a punch to the gut.

I brushed snow off a bench and collapsed onto it, wrapping my arms around myself as holiday shoppers hurried past with their wrapped packages. The satisfaction of telling Harrison off was fading fast, replaced by a familiar hollow feeling in my chest. That same emptiness I'd felt when Dad walked out. When we lost everything. When I signed those surrogacy papers five years ago.

Here I was again. Back at square one.

No wedding. No competition entry. No fashion career. The life I'd carefully pieced together was unraveling like a poorly sewn seam. God, I was so tired of starting over. So tired of watching my dreams slip through my fingers every time I thought I was finally getting somewhere.

I let out a laugh that sounded more like a sob. What would my teenage self think if she could see me now? That girl who spent hours sketching designs in her fancy private school notebooks, dreaming of Paris Fashion Week? Now I couldn't even keep a spot in a local design competition. Because apparently the universe had a sick sense of humor – the one competition that could change my life required me to be married. And here I was, twenty-four hours before my wedding, sitting alone in the snow like some depressing Hallmark movie heroine.

"Way to go, Emma," I whispered to the falling snow. "Another stellar life choice."

I could already picture Camille's smug face when she heard. She'd probably post something passive-aggressive on social media about karma. And my mother... God, how was I going to tell her? She'd been so excited about the wedding, even though I knew she had doubts about Harrison. She'd even dug out her old pearl necklace to loan me – her last piece of jewelry from before everything fell apart.

A snowflake landed on my phone screen, then another, blurring the numbers into watery smudges. Or maybe those were tears. I couldn't tell anymore. The snow kept falling, soft and silent, like the world was trying to bury all my broken plans.

Then a small hand touched my arm, making me jump.

I looked up, blinking through tears, and for a moment thought I was hallucinating. Because there, like some tiny Christmas angel in a puffy blue winter coat, stood Noah. He was holding out a handkerchief with rockets embroidered on the corners, his green eyes – so startlingly like my own – full of worry.

"Miss Emma?" His quiet voice matched the falling snow. "Are you okay?"

"Noah?" I quickly wiped my eyes. "What are you doing here?"

"Making a snowman!" Lottie appeared beside her brother, her cheeks pink with cold, a red and green scarf trailing behind her. "But then we saw you crying." She climbed onto the bench beside me, snow crusting her purple boots. "Why are you sad? Nobody should be sad at Christmas!"

I tried to smile. "Just grown-up things, sweetheart."

"Is it because your wedding got canceled?" Noah asked softly.

My hand flew to my empty ring finger. "How did you..."

He pointed to my hand, mittened finger extended. "Your pretty ring is gone."

"Oh." I twisted my bare finger, the skin still feeling strange without the weight of Harrison's ring. "Yes, the wedding is canceled. But that's not why I'm crying." I don't know why I was being so honest with these children. Something about them made me want to tell the truth.

"There's this amazing opportunity I might miss now, because..." I tried to find words a five-year-old would understand.

"Because you have to be married to take it."

"That's a silly rule," Noah said seriously.

"So silly," I agreed.

Lottie's face lit up like a Christmas tree. "I know! You can marry our daddy!"

I choked on a laugh. "Sweetheart, I can't just—"

"Why not?" She bounced on the bench, sending snow flying. "You're pretty and nice and make the best hot chocolate. And Daddy smiles more when you're around. I saw him!"

"Lottie..." Noah tugged at her sleeve.

"And you put extra marshmallows in our hot chocolate," she continued, undeterred. "That means you like us. Right, Noah?"

Noah nodded solemnly. "Six marshmallows instead of four."

I felt tears welling up again, but different ones this time. These children. These precious, wonderful children who counted marshmallows and offered rocket-covered handkerchiefs to crying strangers.

"There are more important things in marriage than hot chocolate," I said gently.

"Like love?" Lottie asked. "But you can learn to love someone. That's what Grandma Eleanor says. And Daddy already thinks you're pretty. I heard him tell Uncle James!"

"Lottie!" This time Noah's tug was more insistent. "We're not supposed to tell her that!"

But Lottie was unstoppable now. She grabbed my hand in her mittened one. "Please, Miss Emma? We really want a mommy. And you need a husband. It's perfect! And it's Christmas – that's when miracles happen!"

I opened my mouth to explain all the reasons why it wasn't perfect. Why you couldn't just marry someone because their children were adorable and they smiled at you over coffee. Why real life wasn't a fairy tale where everything worked out just because you wanted it to.

But then I looked at their hopeful faces. At the snow falling around us like wedding confetti. At the way Noah was carefully folding his handkerchief into smaller and smaller squares, waiting for my answer.

And I thought about the design competition. About Laurent's studio. About my dreams that were slipping away with each passing moment.

"Miss Emma?" Lottie's voice was small now. "Are you going to say no?"

I should say no. I should explain why this was impossible. I should...

"Where is your father?" I heard myself ask instead.