Chapter 6: The last errand.

Jemma's POV.

-

For one long second, I just look at him. Waiting for anything - a word, a glance that isn’t neutral.

Nothing comes.

Julian holds my gaze for a moment longer, then looks away first, like whatever he almost said wasn’t worth the trouble after all. And I don’t pry into it, choosing to let it all die without surfacing - as much as I want to ask why he’s shown up at all.

I already feel so tired. Any more reading-into-every-little-thing and I might just shut down.

Guess he’s not in the mood to be my armor today.

Then I look between Lauren - adjusting her hair in the mirror, a smug little smile tucked into the corner of her mouth - and Mom’s cold, dismissive eyes.

Without another word, I turn around and leave the suffocating space, doing my best to tame the sting at the back of my eyes and the knots in my chest.

She’s always sided Lauren - the perfect daughter who took after her in every way. Same looks, charming personality, and promising future.

If Julian hadn’t stepped forward all those years ago - steady, certain, promising to build a life with me after that one reckless, foggy night neither of us could fully account for - I don’t know what my mother would’ve done to me.

A daughter disgraced. Pregnant out of wedlock - no memory of how, no name to put to blame.

Lauren only ever came out ahead in the telling. The supportive sister who stood by my side and ensured there were no hiccups in my union with Julian. The sweet sister who’s spent seven years letting me believe I owe her more than I could ever repay.

That’s why I keep paying it back, one exhausted day at a time.

*

The rest of the day, I sort through the mountain of gifts my mother-in-law’s assembled for Lauren and her still-nameless groom. The scale of it stuns me - you’d think it’s her own daughter getting married.

I’ve always known Ms. Ortis favors Lauren. They get along like mother and child ought to, and she never misses a chance to hold that comparison up next to me.

It pains me, despite all these years, instead of gaining closure, I’m only moving apart from my mother-in-law. 

“Careful with those,” she snaps, watching me wrap a set of wine glasses. “Those cost more than you’ll ever afford.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

She doesn’t stop there. Every motion I make gets picked apart, until my hands are shaking too badly to hold steady - and something slips, and shatters.

“What have you done?! Do you know what that set cost?” Her voice cracks like a slap across the room, making me flinch and recoil from the raw heat of her rage.

“It’s no wonder you’re still so miserable and unable to produce a grandchild I can count on this family to properly celebrate,” she remarks in-between, eyes glaring down at me from head to toe. “When you can’t even wrap glasses right. That’s the difference between you and your sister, in every way that matters.

“Honestly, those children are wasted on you. What a pity.”

I stay on the floor long after she’s gone, silent, tears sliding down while my hands brace against the floor to hold myself up.

She...didn’t have to say that. Reminding me of my pathetic condition.

When I’ve emptied myself out, I rise slowly, one arm curled around my aching middle, and drag myself to our bedroom. The house is empty - Julian, Lauren, and Anna, all gone. No calls. No missed messages either.

I make a stop at the kitchen to fetch a glass of water so I can finally take the painkillers I’ve been stalling all day before trudging to my bedroom.

I throw myself onto the large bed with the stress from days of working on Lauren’s wedding and Julian’s Company launch, taking its toll on me - and I fall asleep.

*

My phone drags me back out of sleep, ringing without mercy. Mom’s name lights the screen, and I answer before I can even think of an excuse.

There’s a last errand. Of course there is - It’s the wedding day.

I haven’t heard from Julian since last night, and the unease of that sits heavy in my chest as I wash up and rush to the atelier - where, apparently, Lauren has one final, audacious complaint about her second reception dress.

By the time I make it home, I’m running on nothing but momentum, trying to get dressed fast enough to still make the ceremony. I catch my hip on a large gift box left on the living room table, and a small, cream-colored envelope slides free, gold foil catching the light.

I pick it up without thinking. Peel it open without thinking.

And the whole world stops - cracks, then shatters all at once around the two names printed in gold across the card in my hand.

Lauren Hail and... Julian Prescott.