The Forbidden Throb Chapter 40

Emma's POV:

She turned away, busying herself with the kettle that didn't need filling.

"It's nothing serious. The doctor said—"

"The doctor said you needed follow-up appointments!" I interrupted.

"It's a benign tumor." Her voice was barely above a whisper. "Small. Not growing. As long as it stays that way—"

"As long as it stays that way, *you need to be monitored*." The words came out sharper than I intended. "You can't just cancel appointments because I came home."

She finally turned to face me, and I saw the tears she'd been holding back.

"I didn't want you to worry," she said, her voice breaking. "You have so much on your plate already. "

"Don't." I stepped forward, wrapping my arms around her. She felt smaller than I remembered, more delicate. "You're not a burden. You're my grandmother. You're the most important person in my life. Don't you understand that?"

She let out a long, shaky sigh against my shoulder, her resistance finally crumbling.

"All right," she whispered. "No more hiding. I promise."

"Good." I pulled back just enough to look at her face. "Because tomorrow morning, first thing, I'm taking you for that checkup. Non-negotiable."

"Emma—"

My voice was firm. "I'm not leaving Portland until I hear a doctor tell me, face to face, that you're okay."

She studied my expression for a long moment, then nodded slowly, a hint of her old stubbornness mixing with resignation.

She sighed, but I felt her nod. "Stubborn girl."

"I learned from the best."

---

That night, I climbed into bed beside Grandma, curling up the way I used to when I was small and the world felt too big.

"You used to have nightmares," she murmured in the darkness. "About the ocean. You'd dream you were drowning, and I'd find you here, shaking and crying."

I remembered. The dreams where the water pulled me under, where I couldn't breathe—and then a blurred figure would reach down, pulling me back to the surface.

But I could never see his face clearly, no matter how hard I tried.

Over time, that memory became sealed away, buried so deep I couldn't tell anymore whether it had been a dream or something that actually happened.

"Grandma," I said hesitantly, "was it real? Did I really almost drown?"

She went very still beside me, her hand tightening slightly around mine.

"Yes," she said finally, her voice quiet. "You were about six years old. You loved the ocean so much back then—went down to the beach every chance you got."

My heart began to beat faster.

"There was a boy," she continued slowly. "A young boy who pulled you out of the water. By the time your grandfather and I got there, you were already on the shore, coughing up seawater. The boy was gone."

"Gone?"

"We tried to find him." Her voice carried a note of old frustration. "Searched everywhere, asked everyone. Your grandfather wanted to thank him, to make sure he was all right. But it was like he'd vanished. No one knew who he was."

I swallowed hard, trying to process this. "What happened after?"

"You had a terrible fever for days. When you finally recovered..." She paused. "You didn't remember much. Not the drowning, not the boy. It was like your mind had locked it all away."

"And you never told me?"

"I thought it was for the best," she admitted. "You stopped having those nightmares. And you stopped going to the beach alone, which—" her voice wavered slightly, "—which made me sleep better at night. So I... I let it stay buried. Let you forget."

I lay there in the darkness, my mind racing.

Somewhere in my lost memories, a boy had saved my life. A boy whose face I couldn't remember, whose name I'd never known.

"You were protecting me," I said softly. "You always have been. Like my guardian angel."

Grandma's arm tightened around me. "Well, you have a new guardian angel now," she said, and I heard the smile in her voice. "One who's much better equipped than an old woman to take care of you."

I knew who she meant. Daniel.

"Your grandfather would have liked him," she continued quietly.

I stayed silent, feeling the weight of her words. The way she spoke about Grandpa told me everything. She'd never really let him go.

"Grandma," I whispered.

"Hmm?

"The roof. The leak."

"Oh, that old thing." She waved a hand dismissively. "It's been there for years. It's not so bad—"

"You never wanted it fixed, did you?"

The words came out softer than I intended, but they hung in the darkness between us.

She went still beside me.

"All these years," I continued quietly, "you could have called someone. Anyone. But you didn't. Because as long as that leak is there..."

I felt her hand find mine in the darkness, squeezing tight.

"As long as it's there," I whispered, "I'm still that little girl playing in the puddles. And Grandpa... Grandpa might still come home someday to keep his promise. To fix what's broken."

Her breath hitched. "Emma—"

"I understand," I said, my throat tight. "I understand wanting to stay in that time. When I was small and safe, and he was here, and everything felt... possible."

"We were so happy then," Grandma whispered, her voice breaking. "You'd laugh and splash in those puddles, making up stories about the rain. Just watching you... it made us so happy. So complete."

I turned to face her in the dim light, seeing the tears on her cheeks.

"But I'm not that little girl anymore, Grandma. I've grown up. And you know what?" I smiled through my own tears. "I can still be happy. Different happy, maybe. But happy all the same."

"Emma—"

"I want you to be happy too," I said firmly. "Not stuck in the past, waiting for something that can't come back. I want us both to move forward. Together."

She pulled me close, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs.

"He'd want us to fix it," she finally whispered against my hair. "Your grandfather. He'd want us to fix the leak and... and keep living."

"Yes." I held her tighter. "He would."

"I'm calling a contractor tomorrow," I said softly. "After we get back from the hospital."

She opened her mouth to protest, then closed it again. In the dim light, I saw her eyes grow shiny with unshed tears.

"You really have grown up," she whispered.

"I had to." I lay back down, settling against her shoulder the way I used to. "Someone had to take care of you, since you clearly won't take care of yourself."

Her laugh was watery. "When did you get so bossy?"

"About twenty-four hours ago," I admitted. "When I became Mrs. Emma Prescott."

The name still felt strange on my tongue.

But lying there in the darkness, listening to the familiar sound of rain beginning to patter against the windows, listening to the steady *drip, drip, drip* from the leak in the corner—I felt something shift inside me.