Chapter 2 When It All Falls Apart
1265 Words
Emma
The text message from Harrison kept flashing on my phone screen as I drove to the church: We need to talk. NOW.
Something in his tone made my hands shake on the steering wheel. The same church where I was supposed to say "I do" tomorrow, now loomed ahead like a Gothic warning. Its spires pierced the gray December sky, and fresh snow dusted the steps where I'd planned to walk down as a bride. Through the stained glass windows, I could see the glimmer of Christmas wreaths and candlelight, a bitter reminder of the holiday joy I wasn't feeling.
Harrison stood at the entrance, a dark silhouette against the white stone. His photographer's eye was probably noting how perfectly the snow contrasted with his black designer coat. Everything was always about the perfect image with him.
"You're late." He didn't turn to look at me. "Five minutes late, to be exact."
"There was traffic on—"
"I've spent the morning confirming details." He cut me off, his voice eerily calm. "The flowers are being flown in from Holland. Premium white roses. Twelve thousand dollars per arrangement."
I stayed silent. When Harrison used this tone, it was better not to interrupt.
"The cake has fourteen tiers. Hand-painted sugar flowers. The baker is flying in from Paris." He adjusted his sleeve. "The guest list includes every major fashion editor in New York. They're all rearranging their Christmas plans to be here."
Each detail felt like another stone being laid on my chest. I knew what all this meant – how much money he'd spent, how many favors he'd called in.
"The photographer is..." He gave a bitter laugh. "Well, that would be me. Though now I'm wondering if I should have hired someone else. Better lighting for when everything falls apart."
"Harrison, what are you talking about?"
"The doves are arriving tomorrow morning. Pure white. Perfect symbolism, don't you think?" His voice grew sharper. "Purity. Innocence. Everything you pretended to be."
"I don't understand—"
He spun around so fast I stepped back. His face was twisted with anger I'd never seen before. "Don't you?" He reached into his coat and pulled out a manila folder. "Then let me help you understand."
The folder hit the snow at my feet with a soft thump. Papers scattered across the steps like ugly white birds. My heart stopped as I recognized the letterhead: New Hope Fertility Clinic.
There, in stark medical terminology, was the secret I'd buried five years ago: Patient Name: Emma Bennett. Procedure: Surrogate pregnancy. Status: Twin delivery.
The world tilted sideways. The pristine snow, the church steps with their Christmas ribbons, Harrison's perfect black coat – everything blurred except those damning words on the paper.
"How..." My voice cracked. I tried again. "How did you get these?"
"Isn't it amazing what people keep in their attics?" Harrison's smile was razor-sharp. "All those dusty boxes full of secrets."
My blood ran cold. "You went through my mother's things?"
"Oh, not me." He brushed invisible lint from his sleeve. "Your dear sister Camille did the honors. She's been quite... helpful. Consider it her Christmas gift to me."
"Camille?" The name tasted bitter. Of course it was Camille. My half-sister who'd never forgiven me for being our father's "real" daughter, even though he'd abandoned us both in the end. The same Camille who'd sworn to make me pay for "stealing" her childhood.
I knelt to gather the scattered papers, but Harrison's foot came down on them.
"Leave them," he said. "They look perfect there in the snow. Like your lies, all exposed."
"You had no right." My voice shook with rage. "Those are private medical records. You and Camille had no right—"
"I had EVERY right!" The shout echoed off the church walls, drowning out the distant carol singers. "I'm your fiancé. Or was supposed to be." He raked both hands through his perfectly styled hair. "Do you have any idea what this could do to my reputation? To my career? The Christmas Eve wedding was meant to be perfect – featured in every magazine!"
He grabbed my arm, fingers digging in. "Harrison Pierce, rising star of the fashion photography world." His face was inches from mine. "Married to a woman who sold her body? Who rented out her womb like a—"
I yanked my arm free. "Don't you dare finish that sentence!"
"I didn't sell my body." The words tasted like acid. "My mother was dying. The medical bills—"
"There are a thousand ways to save someone that doesn't involve carrying another person's children!"
I almost laughed. The sound caught in my throat like broken glass. "A thousand ways? Really? Tell me, Harrison, what would you have done? Asked daddy for money? Sold one of your summer homes?"
The bitter words spilled out before I could stop them. I remembered that desperate time – watching my mother grow weaker, the hospital bills piling up, my father's cold voice on the phone saying he wouldn't help. I'd been nineteen, still learning how to survive without our family's wealth. The surrogacy agency's ad had seemed like a miracle then.
Harrison's face hardened. "We can still salvage this. The wedding can proceed, under certain conditions. The Christmas Eve ceremony can still be perfect."
Something in his tone made my skin crawl. "What conditions?"
"Cut all contact with your mother."
The words hit me like a physical blow. "What?"
"She's the source of this mess. Cut her off. Move to London with me after the wedding. Leave this sordid past behind." He reached for my hand. "I can remake you, Emma. Clean slate. New identity. No one needs to know."
I stared at him, really seeing him for the first time. This man who'd charmed me at his gallery opening. Who'd promised to help launch my design career. Who'd slowly, so slowly I hadn't noticed, started trying to remake me in his image.
The engagement ring burned against my skin like a brand.
"No," I said, my breath visible in the winter air. "I will never leave my mom."
"Emma." His voice turned sharp. "Think carefully about what you're throwing away. Your chance at a real career. Connections in the fashion world. Protection from your past being exposed." His smile turned cruel. "What do you think Laurent would say if he knew about your... history?"
Laurent. The design competition. My one real chance to break into the fashion world on my own terms. The competition that required all contestants to be married, for some archaic reason no one understood. Without Harrison, I may lose this chance.
Then I thought about my mom. How she'd held my hair back during morning sickness. How she'd defended me to her snobby friends. How she'd never once made me feel ashamed, even when she was the one suffering.
Something clicked into place. Maybe it had been clicking for months, and I just hadn't wanted to hear it.
I twisted off the engagement ring and held it up. The diamond caught the winter light, scattering tiny rainbows across the snow. "You want to know what I think, Harrison?"
His eyes fixed on the ring. "Emma—"
The words felt like my own for the first time in forever. "I think this ring is like you – pretty to look at, but super fake underneath. I'd rather be a waitress forever than marry someone with such a small, cruel heart."
I let the ring fall. It made a satisfying little dent in the snow.
"We're done, Harrison."
- Writer
