Emma and her new husband, Dylan, were lost in the moment, swaying together for their first dance as husband and wife. The music wrapped around them, soft and sweet, the rhythm carrying their hearts. The air felt thick with love, and for the first time in a long while, Emma felt the kind of peace she’d been longing for. Yet, despite the joy, one thing haunted her—her parents weren’t here to witness her happiness. The absence was a hole in her chest that no amount of joy could fill.
But before she could fully lose herself in the moment, a voice broke through the atmosphere like a stone thrown into still water. Mr. Scotliff, the hotel manager, stepped into their private bubble, his face contorted in discomfort.
“Excuse me, Mrs. Henderson,” he started, a hesitant cough escaping him. “There’s someone outside asking to see you.”
Emma frowned, her joy fleeting. “Who?” she asked, glancing up at Dylan.
“She says she’s your grandmother. Martha.”
Dylan’s face shifted, brows furrowing in concern. “I’ll handle it. I’ll tell her to leave.”
But Emma, her eyes heavy with emotion, shook her head. “No, Dylan. If I know her, she’ll make a scene. I’ll go see what this is about.”
Emma stepped away from Dylan’s protective embrace, her heart beating a little faster as she walked outside. There, standing at the edge of the reception hall, was Martha. The older woman’s eyes immediately brightened when she saw her granddaughter, her smile spreading across her face like a mask hiding something darker.
“You are the most beautiful bride,” Martha gushed, her voice trembling with emotion. “You look perfect, darling.”
Emma barely moved as Martha reached for her hand, her own stiff and unyielding. She took a step back, not wanting to feel the touch of the woman who had caused so much pain.
“What are you doing here?” Emma’s voice was tight with anger, her words sharp. “You weren’t invited. I don’t think I need to remind you why.”
Martha’s smile faltered, but she nodded, her face growing serious, almost sorrowful. “I know, Emma,” she said softly, her eyes glistening with tears. “But I had to see my only granddaughter get married.”
Emma’s arms crossed defensively, her anger boiling under the surface. “You need to go, Martha. My father should be here today. If it weren’t for you…” Her voice cracked, but she steadied herself. “If it weren’t for what you didn’t do, he would’ve been here. He should’ve walked me down the aisle.”
“I’m sorry, dear,” Martha whispered, the weight of her words pressing on Emma’s heart. “I truly regret what happened. But I came here to give you something, Emma.”
Martha reached into her purse and pulled out a small red box, handing it to Emma with trembling hands.
“This is all I could give you,” Martha said, her voice quiet, almost pleading. “I hope you like it.”
Emma stared down at the box, feeling a knot tighten in her stomach. She looked at it with disdain, already assuming the worst. “What is this?” she sneered, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “A tiny piece of cheap jewelry? How did you even get this? Did you steal it from someone?”
Martha winced as though she had been struck. “Oh, dear, I—”
Emma cut her off, her voice rising, filled with years of suppressed pain. “If it weren’t for your greed, my father would be here today! He would’ve been the happiest man to see me get married! But instead, he’s in prison—he died in that wretched place because of you!”
Tears welled in Emma’s eyes, but she fought them back. Her heart was heavy, her chest tight with the weight of it all. “I hate you,” she cried out, voice breaking. “Just go. I never want to see you again.”
Martha stood frozen, tears slipping down her cheeks. She didn’t say anything else, only gave Emma one last longing look before turning and walking away. Emma’s eyes followed her, her heart tangled in conflicting emotions.
As Martha left, Emma’s thoughts spiraled. She remembered a day years ago that had carved hatred into her soul—a day that would forever be tied to the woman who was supposed to be family.
The memory hit Emma like a freight train. She had been sitting in her father’s lawyer’s office, her heart heavy with dread. Mr. Morgan, the burly lawyer, had sat across from her, his stern expression a poor mask for the bad news he was about to deliver.
“I don’t have good news, kid,” he started, his voice grim. “The people who are suing your father want a settlement.”
Emma’s heart sank as the words blurred in her mind. She had no idea what “settlement” meant in this context, but she could tell it was something bad.
Mr. Morgan continued, his voice cold and factual. “They’re asking for a lot of money, Emma. More than anyone could afford.”
Emma’s breath caught. “How much?”
When he told her the amount, it felt like the ground beneath her feet was vanishing. “I don’t have that kind of money,” she stammered. “What can I do?”
Mr. Morgan’s expression hardened. “If you can’t pay it, your father will go to jail. And he’ll be there for a long time.”
Emma’s eyes welled with tears. She couldn’t lose her father. She couldn’t let him rot in prison.
“You need to find a way, Emma,” Mr. Morgan said firmly. “If we don’t settle, it’s over for your dad.”
Leaving the office, Emma was overwhelmed by the weight of the world on her shoulders. She knew she couldn’t turn to her friends, and with no credit to speak of, there was only one person left to ask—her grandmother.
Martha’s house seemed so far away, but Emma had no choice. When she finally arrived, she was panting, her voice shaky with desperation. “Gran, I need your help. My father… he’s going to prison unless we pay this settlement.”
Martha’s face paled as Emma explained, her voice cracking with emotion. “But I don’t have that kind of money, Emma,” Martha said softly. “I can’t help you.”
Emma’s frustration boiled over. “Gran, please! We can sell the bakery. We’ll have enough.”
But Martha’s eyes widened in horror. “The bakery? No, Emma. That’s all I have. I can’t sell it. I can’t lose everything I’ve worked for.”
“Please, Gran! Don’t you care about Dad?” Emma’s voice rose, desperation turning into fury. “If you don’t help us, I’ll never speak to you again! You’re abandoning your own family! I hate you!”
Martha’s face softened with sadness, but she didn’t budge. “I’m sorry, Emma. I just can’t do it.”
And with that, Emma stormed out, slamming the door behind her, the sound of it echoing in her ears. She knew then that her relationship with her grandmother would never be the same.
The months that followed were a blur of anger and pain. When her father was finally sentenced, Emma promised she would never leave him. But then, just six months into his sentence, Emma’s world came crashing down.
She was grocery shopping when the phone rang. “Am I speaking to Mr. Colby’s daughter?” the voice asked, and Emma’s heart stopped.
“Yes, what is it?” she asked, her voice trembling.
“I’m so sorry,” the voice said. “Your father… he passed away last night. Heart attack. He went quickly.”
The world seemed to tilt. Emma’s legs buckled, and she sank to the floor of the store, crying uncontrollably into the phone.
Her father was gone. And it was because of Martha. Because of her refusal to help when it mattered most.
When they cremated his body, Emma felt an emptiness that could never be filled. Her father had died alone, and she would never get the chance to say goodbye.
The next day, still reeling from the grief, Emma found the red jewelry box in her hands, its contents still a mystery. Without thinking, she threw it to the ground in a fit of rage. The box shattered, and inside, a glimmer of light caught her eye.
A ring. A beautiful emerald ring, shining brightly among the shards of the broken box.
“Is that an emerald ring?” Dylan asked, kneeling beside her as she picked it up, her heart racing.
Emma’s hands shook as she held the ring, staring at it in disbelief. “How… how could she afford this?”
Then, her eyes caught something—a small piece of folded paper tucked inside the box. Her hands trembling, she unfolded the note, and the words that followed tore through her.
“Dear Emma,
I know you hate me for what I did, but your father was not a good man. He hurt many people, and he didn’t care about the consequences. I tried to stop your mother from marrying him, but she didn’t listen. And because of him, she took her own life.
I could’ve saved him from jail, but he didn’t deserve it. He didn’t deserve your love.
The bakery… it was never mine, Emma. It was always meant for you. I hope, one day, you’ll understand why I did what I did. Please don’t hate me. Take this ring as part of your wedding gift. The rest will come from a lawyer soon.
Love you to the moon and back,
Gran.”
Emma’s world crashed down. Her grandmother had kept secrets—dark, painful secrets.
The next day, she rushed to Martha’s house. But as she pulled up, confusion filled her heart. Two big trucks were parked outside.
“Why are people moving into Gran’s house?” Emma asked a mover, her voice tight with panic.
The man looked at her blankly. “The house was sold a few weeks ago.”
“Sold?” Emma’s voice wavered. “But… who sold it?”
The mover didn’t know, so Emma turned to Martha’s neighbor, Judy, desperate for answers.
Judy’s soft voice greeted her. “Oh, dear, Martha… she told me she was selling the house for you. She wanted you to have it after her diagnosis.”
“Diagnosis?” Emma’s breath caught. “What diagnosis?”
“She had stage four skin cancer, sweetheart. She didn’t want to burden you,” Judy explained gently.
Emma’s heart raced. Martha had been dying and hadn’t told her.
Frantically, Emma left and drove to Frank’s, the local motel, hoping to find her grandmother. But when she arrived, she was hit with the news that Martha had passed away the night before.
“She died last night,” the receptionist said. “The coroner already took the body.”
Emma’s world imploded. The weight of everything came crashing down on her. She turned and ran out of the building, but before she could get far, a scream tore from her throat—a scream filled with grief, regret, and a lifetime of lost opportunities.
