— What about your family? Didn’t your parents help? My dad got me through my divorce. He spent hours talking me off the ledge.
Emily lowered her eyes.
— I don’t have family. Not really. My biological relatives are out there somewhere, but they’re not part of my life.
— I was taken away at five. My mother drank herself through most of my childhood and never once came looking for me, — she said quietly. — And I promised myself then that I would never do that to my own child. Sorry. I don’t know why I’m dumping all this on you. You didn’t ask for my life story.
Ethan covered her hand with his and said firmly:
— From now on, you’re not alone. I need you to hear that. I know you still love Daniel. I know you’re grieving, and I’m not trying to replace him. Let me be your friend. That’s all. No pressure.
— The last thing I expected on that assignment was to fall hard for a woman walking through a tunnel with a paper bag and a kind smile, — he said honestly. — But here we are. So don’t shut me out. Let me stay nearby. Let me help. No strings attached.
From that day on, they became close—closer than either of them had planned. They told each other things they hadn’t told anyone else. Emily could hardly believe her luck. For the first time in a long time, she had someone dependable in her life. Someone who listened, didn’t judge, and showed up.
Still, she refused to let herself imagine anything beyond friendship. Though if she was honest, Ethan got under her skin in a way that had nothing to do with friendship. Every accidental touch sent her pulse racing.
But she kept those feelings locked down. At night she would lie awake comparing what she felt for Ethan with what she still carried for Daniel.
I don’t have the right to fall in love again. It feels like a betrayal. What would I tell my son one day? Your father died, and I just moved on?
And why would Ethan want this life? Diapers, bills, somebody else’s baby? Sooner or later he’ll realize what this means and leave. Then I’ll be the one picking up the pieces again.
Ethan, for his part, seemed determined to play the long game. He became her unofficial bodyguard. He carried groceries, rubbed her swollen feet, went with her to appointments, and somehow kept her fridge stocked with decent food. More than once, she found cash tucked into a drawer and knew exactly who had put it there.
At night, though, he lay awake grinding his teeth.
What is wrong with me? I volunteered for the friend zone. I love this woman and that baby more than my own life. Does she really not see it?
No, that’s not true. She feels something too. I can see it. So why does she keep building walls? Maybe I should just go all in and ask her to marry me. But what if I push too hard and she shuts me out for good? She’s still grieving. If she cuts me loose, I don’t know what I’ll do.
Those thoughts followed him everywhere. He kept replaying the day in the tunnel. The freckled woman with the tired eyes and the warm smile, handing food to a man she thought was homeless. In a cynical world, she had still chosen kindness.
And when he noticed the curve of her pregnant belly under her coat, he had been floored. She barely had enough for herself, and still she gave. Her laugh, the sweep of her lashes, the softness in her face—he couldn’t get any of it out of his head.
Then one night, deep into the third trimester, Emily’s water broke and the pain hit hard and fast. Panicked, she called the one person she trusted most.
