The rain had softened by the time they wheeled Emma out of the hospital.
Not gone.
Just quieter.
Like the world had lowered its voice—but not its intention.
The sky hung low and grey, the air cool against her skin as the doors slid open. The sterile scent of antiseptic faded behind her, replaced by something sharper. Real.
Outside, the world was waiting.
Her father stood near the car, posture straight, expression composed—but his eyes betrayed him.
Edward Laurent had always been a controlled man.
Today, he wasn’t.
“Emma,” he said, stepping forward carefully.
He didn’t hug her immediately—not because he didn’t want to, but because he was afraid of hurting her.
Instead, he placed a hand gently over hers.
“You should come home,” he said quietly. “The Laurent mansion is safer. You
