A dynamic woman in the rain, her hair plastered to her cheeks, her toddler cradled against her chest. Her clothes were soaked and worn. Her voice trembled as he attacked.
“Please, I won’t. Just… If you let me clean your house, I’ll earn… Just… a chef’s plate. For me and my daughter.”
Julian’s world turned upside down.
Emily?” he whispered.
Her eyes widened. “Julian?”
Three years flew by in a flash. OK.
The last time he saw Emily Hart, she was barefoot in his garden, twirling in a red dress and coming to terms with herself, the whole world with them. Then she was gone. Without a goodbye. Without a need. She simply vanished.
And now—here she was, subsequent, with ventilation.
Julian’s gaze fell on the girl. Blonde curls. Blue eyes. Eyes that reminded him of his mother’s.
“Is she… mine?” he whispered.
Emily received it and remained silent.
Step aside. "Come on."
Warmth enveloped them as they crossed the marble foyer. Rain dripped from Emily's sleeves onto the polished plug. Julian gestured to the chef, who was brought in with the meal.
Emily was taken aback. "Do you still have staff?"
Julian clenched his jaw. "Of course. I have everything. Everything, except the answers."
The girl reached for the bowl of strawberries, and her soft, timid voice said, "Pour it on."
Julian's throat tightened. "What's her name?"
Emily whispered, "Lila."
It cut through him like a knife. Lila—the name they had once dreamed of for their daughter, when their love was unbreakable.
Julian sat in his chair and stared at the woman who had haunted his nights for what felt like years.
"Start talking," he said steelily. “Why did you leave?”
Emily hugged Lila tightly, trembling. “I found out I was pregnant at the same time your company was going public. You came at work. She didn’t try to force you.”
“It was my choice,” Julian said.
“I know,” her voice broke. “But then… I got sick. Cancer. Stage two. Not until I survived.”
